Page 78 of Roped

My nails scratch the wooden rail. “You’re crazy.”

“Thought the word was ‘psychotic.’”

“I can’t believe you’re making jokes about this,” I say, my breaths all choppy.

“Sounds like the start of a good one, though,” he goes on, his eyes practically twinkling. “What happens when you get stabbed, shot, and bitten by a rabid princess?”

“I didn’t shoot you,” I point out. “But the answer should be you probably get a psychotic phantom laughing it off like it’s a dream come true.”

The corners of his mouth pull up then. “Well, maybe it is.”

I look into his amused eyes and forget all the complementary colors in this world, because this is what brings out his eyes. Him being playful. I wonder, for the thousandth time since I met him, if this is what he was like before, before everything happened; and I wonder if he’ll ever get back to that. And if he does, will I be here to see it?

A pang strikes my chest and I ask, “Can I at least dress the one on your shoulder?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause I don’t want you to.”

“Is this some sort of self-inflicted punishment?” I ask, frowning. “A way to pay your dues? Because according to you, you put me in harm’s way, even though no harm came to me whatsoever because you didn’t let it, and now you’re repenting for it.”

“Part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

He holds his silence.

And I clench my teeth in frustration. “What about where you’re sleeping?”

“What about it?”

“Well, where are you sleeping? Because there’s just one bed in that house, and I was the one who slept in it last night.”

“You invitin’ me to your bed, Princess?” he asks, his eyes all green and intense. “Wouldn’t be breakin’ your rules now, not after yesterday.”

God. Can we please go back to when he wasn’t annoying me? And I didn’t want to jump his bones so bad, my boundaries be damned.

“No,” I tell him sternly because that’s not happening, not ever. “I’m saying if there is only one bed, then I want you to take it because you need your rest with your injured shoulder.”

His chest moves with a breath like he’s exasperated. “And as I said, it’s fine.”

“You know what, Haven was right,” I tell him. “You’re literally the worst.”

He holds his silence at this, too, but I can clearly see he’s proud of it.

“Fine, whatever.” I throw my hands up. “You do what you want. You want to suffer, please go suffer; I don’t care. And then you ride around on your stupid horse and do whatever it is you do, brood or punch walls or… whatever. I’m going to go inside and figure out lunch. Because guess what, I’m making lunch and you will eat it even if you hate it, okay? So… Goodbye, my friend!”

Huffing, I spin around but don’t go anywhere because in the next breath, I find my wrist captured in his hand. Bending down, he pulls me back up against the fence. But when I go to face him, he stops me and brings my arm forward as his snakes around my belly. He keeps my back pressed to the wooden slats and leans down. I feel the heat of his chest surrounding me and his stubble rustling against my cheek as he says, “Not your friend, darlin’.” He flexes his grip around my belly as he continues, “And I’ll go ride around but only if you come with me.”

I freeze. “What?”

He whispers in my ear, his words somehow seductive and bossy, “Come with me.”

My eyes are wide, scared, and I shake my head. “No.”

“No?”