Page 132 of What We Break
Blake's jaw works. He doesn't look at me. He gives the coffee pot a stare that I'm shocked doesn't make it explode.
"I handled it," he says, his voice flat.
Don't ask. Just leave it alone Laine. Be smart."Handled it?"
"I went to a bar. I found what I needed. It's done."
The cold, transactional way he says it makes my stomach turn. It sounds so... biological. So unlike the man who held that little girl's mom together yesterday, who was so gentle.
"Oh," I manage. "I didn't realize you were..." What? Sleeping withsomebody? Paying attention to somebody? Does she get that gentle version of Blake? The kind one?
"Whatever you're picturing, stop." He snaps it, finally turning to face me. His eyes are bloodshot, hard. "I'm a grown man, Laine. I don't need a chaperone and I don't need the third degree just because I didn't come home to tuck you two in."
"Oh." Apparently that's all I'm capable of saying this morning. He makes me feel small and stupid. It makes no sense. Why is this such a big deal?
"Does that bother you?" Blake asks, tone sharp. Almost challenging.
"No," I nearly shout. "Of course not. You're free to?—"
"Good." He sets his mug down harder than necessary. "Because I'd hate for you to be uncomfortable while you're standing there smelling like sex with my best friend."
I feel the hit before I process the words. That particular kind of precision cruelty, the kind that only lands because the person knows exactly where to aim. I've never heard Blake sound like that. His eyes are flat, closed off, like someone pulled a shade down behind them.
"Blake, I didn't mean?—"
"Didn't mean what? To interrogate me about my sex life while looking like you just rolled out of Reid's bed?" His voice is hard now. All traces of that careful gentleness stripped clean. "Sorry, Laine. I'm not in the mood for whatever this is."
I take a step closer before I even decide to move. That old reflex — smooth it over, fix it, make it okay. "Blake, I'm not judging you. I just?—"
I just what? What do I think I'm doing here?
His eyes drop. Just for a split second, his gaze drags down the length of my bare legs, catching on where Reid's shirt ends mid-thigh. His throat bobs.
He's staring at my bare legs again, and this weird flippy feeling takes over my chest. I am so confused.
Then his eyes snap back up to mine, and they are furious. Absolutely burning.
"Stop," he says, his voice like gravel. "Just... stop playing the concerned roommate."
"I'm trying to be your friend."
"I don't need another friend." He turns his back on me, grabbing his thermos. "And maybe next time put some pants on before you come down to play house."
Blake moves toward the door, and I take a step back, stinging from the venom in his voice. He pauses in the doorway, not looking back at me, and for a moment I think he's done.
I feel like I've been slapped. The cruelty in his voice, the way he looked at me like I was something distasteful, makes my eyes burn.
Yeah. He needs to go. But then what? Does this just simmer between us? Do we pretend it never happened the next time we're in the same room? I can't do that. I can't let him think these things about me. "I wasn't—" I start, my voice shaky.
Blake half-turns back toward me, and for just a second, there’s a flicker across his face - regret, maybe, or recognition of how harsh he was. But then we both hear Reid's voice booming from the stairway.
"Morning, beautiful people!"
Blake steps back into the kitchen and it's like watching someone hit a reset button. The tension drops out of his shoulders. That hard line of his mouth goes easy. The whole shift takes maybe two seconds, and if I hadn't just been standing on the other side of it, I wouldn't know it happened at all.
I have never been more grateful for an interruption in my life.
Reid wanders in, hair still wrecked from sleep, in his jeans and a t-shirt. He drops a kiss on my temple and reaches for a mug.
