Kristen Ashley - Jagged

I decided not to rise to the bait. “I’m just tired, Ham. I’m not pullin’ any shit.”

“You are, and you’re full of shit, too.”

That, I couldn’t let slide so I lifted up on a forearm and twisted my head to look in his direction. “How am I full of shit? I went to bed last night at three thirty in the morning and got out of it at seven thirty. I’ve had four hours of sleep.”

Ham, being all I knew that was Ham, didn’t hesitate to lay it out honestly.

“You asked that shit about Feb, didn’t like my answers, now you’re pouting.”

Unfortunately, although this was somewhat close to the truth, now I was pissed off.

“I’m not pouting,” I snapped.

“Tell me when we have ever shared the same bed and, even if we didn’t fuck, you didn’t sleep the whole goddamned night somehow cuddled into me.”

I had no reply mostly because there was never a time, not once, when we shared the same bed where I didn’t sleep snuggled close to Ham.

“Yeah,” he stated, knowing from my nonresponse that he’d made his point.

With no other retort open to me, and angrier because of it, I repeated, “I’m not pouting, Ham.”

“You weren’t my first, babe, but you’re gonna be my last,” he declared.

Unthinking, too ticked to think, I shot back, “Lucky me Feb was taken, or I wouldn’t get that.”

After I finished speaking, I noted the air in the room instantly got heavy, and not the good, warm, safe kind. The bad, dangerous, suffocating kind.

And I didn’t care.

He cared about her.

He cared about me.

What the hell was I supposed to do with that?

“What the fuck was that remark about?” he growled, and it wasn’t his good, warm, sexy growl but his bad, dangerous, angry growl.

“Forget it,” I mumbled and collapsed back in bed.

“Do you honestly think I’m gonna let you get away with that shit you just spewed?” he asked.

“Apparently not, since I should be sleeping and you’re still talking,” I replied.

The bed moved and the light went on.

I sighed, loud and heavily.

“Look at me, Zara.”

“Can we do this in the morning?”

“Fuckin’ look… at… me.”

That was said in his downright terrifying, bad, dangerous, angry growl.

Since I had no choice, I sat up and turned to him, crossing my arms on my chest and my legs under me. Ham was up, too, back to the headboard, legs cocked at the knees under the covers, arms also crossed on his chest. I didn’t know how he could be frightening, essentially lying in bed, but he pulled it off in a big way.

Luckily, I knew he’d never hurt me so I ignored that, too.

“Now, explain that shit,” he ordered.

“I’m not exactly going to do cartwheels, knowing you care about another woman,” I stated the obvious.

“Then why the fuck did you ask about her?” he asked.

“We still have more of your shit to talk through and I figured she was part of that.”

“Well, she’s not part of any shit I gotta talk through. But, advice, babe, you wanna have a deep conversation, don’t start it when you’re tired and in a bitchy mood.”

I felt my temper spiking as I informed him, “I wasn’t in a bitchy mood until you switched back to ask-no-questions, tell-no-lies Ham.”

Ham lost patience and I knew this when he clipped, “Fuckin’ hell, Zara, I don’t know this shit you got goin’ on in your head but there’s only one me.”

“That’s bad news,” I fired back, “seein’ as the Ham I know cuts ties and takes off when the spirit moves him.”

His brows drew together over narrowed eyes and he asked low, “Is that what this shit is about?”

“Actually, this shit is about me wanting to go to sleep, you not letting me do it, picking a fight, and me being so fucking tired I could fall asleep right now, sitting up, and you not letting this shit go.”

“Zara, you started it by bringin’ up Feb,” he reminded me.

“Then point taken, big guy,” I retorted, shoving the covers aside and jumping off the bed. Standing beside it, glaring at him, I went on. “I’ll know next time not to bring up February. In fact, never to bring her up, seein’ as you care about her so much, thinkin’ about her puts you in a shit mood.”

Ham angled out of bed and faced off with me across it, contradicting me. “I’m in a shit mood because you’re pullin’ this shit.”

“Right then, your mood will get a whole lot better when I leave,” I announced, then stomped to the door.

I was halted with a hand curled firm around my elbow when I was three feet away.

I looked up at Ham.

“Where the fuck you goin’?” he asked.

“My bed,” I answered.

“Zara, you just rolled out of your bed,” he told me.

“Ham, I just rolled out of your bed.”

His brows shot up and that was a scary look, too.

“Jesus, seriously?” he asked.

“Let go,” I demanded.

“Babe, get in bed.”

“Let go.”

“Fuckin’ get in bed,” he bit out.

“Fuckin’ let go,” I snapped. Not giving him the chance to comply, I twisted my arm from his hold and bolted out the door.

Once in my old bedroom, I slammed the door.

Then I stood staring at it, breathing heavily and waiting.

It didn’t open.

I didn’t hear Ham come down the hall. I didn’t hear him knock.

I got nothing.

So be it.

I crawled into my own bed and curled under the covers.

He cared about me.

He also cared about February.

That’s all he gave me.

Just that he cared about me.

But he also cared about February.

I lay in the dark knowing that was far from enough.

And, incidentally, I didn’t sleep that night either.

He’s What He Does

The next morning, I was in the kitchen rinsing out my cereal bowl, dressed, and ready to roll, when Ham walked in wearing loose track pants, running shoes, and a tight Under Armour crewneck that made his already massive chest seem colossal.

He gave me a scowl, which meant he, like me, wasn’t over it, and he headed to the coffee.

I headed to my purse sitting on the countertop.

I almost had a hand on it when I heard Ham state, “I’m runnin’. When I get back and showered, we’ll sort out our shit.”

I nabbed my purse, pulled the strap over my shoulder, and, not looking at him, returned, “Sorry, we won’t be doin’ that, seein’ as I’m takin’ off right about now and I’m not comin’ back. I’ll see you at work. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Not comin’ back?” he asked my back.

“Not until after work,” I answered, pulling my hair out from under the strap. “Then, I’m sleepin’.”

“Where the fuck you goin’?”

“Away from you,” I replied, moving toward the door.

“Zara, you are not leavin’. I’m runnin’ then we’re workin’ this shit out.”

I turned at the door and glared at him. “Another thing to learn about me is no one tells me what I can and cannot do. I got away from that shit when I was eighteen and I’m never goin’ back. So we’ll talk tomorrow when I’ve had time alone to think things through. I haven’t had much of that, us workin’ together and livin’ together, and I need it.”

He had an empty mug in his hand and his eyes on me were narrowed as he asked, “Think what through?”

“This.” I threw a hand in the air. “You and me.”

His scowl got darker. In fact, it was midnight dark and scary to boot.

But he rested a hand on the countertop before he said, “Babe, tell me. What… exactly… is there to think through?”

As scary as his scowl was, the prospect of making the wrong decisions now that could possibly eventually affect three lives was far scarier.

So I explained. “The fact that it seems you want a commitment. To commit to me but, also, me to commit to you. And you want me to do that knowin’ you care about another woman.”

“February is not standin’ in my kitchen with me,” he pointed out and it was the wrong thing to say.

“Yeah, and when I asked you about an ex-lover, Ham, you gave it to me straight,” I shot back, my heart starting to race, my head beginning to hurt, not wanting to do this now but caught up in it anyway, which was not making me happy. “I have no qualms with that. It’s you. The problem is, after that, you gave me nothing. No woman in her right mind, especially with our history, knowin’ you had others besides me, is gonna hook her star to a guy who’s maybe hooked to someone else.”

At my words, his scowl instantly went dark as pitch and I fancied the lights in the kitchen dimmed from the force of his glower.

“Are you fuckin’ shittin’ me?” His voice was also lower, rumbling, and pissed way the hell off, matching his expression precisely.

But I threw up my hands in exasperation because, again, he did not contradict me. He did not assure me. He didn’t do anything but get more pissed at me.

“Do I look like I’m shitting you?” I asked, then locked eyes with him. “You can’t possibly think this isn’t hard on me, Ham.”

“No, you’re absolutely right. I can’t think that. What I don’t get is, why you’re makin’ this so fuckin’ hard, Zara. And just sayin’, you’re doin’ all this shit to yourself,” he retorted.

Man, oh man, now I wasn’t just exasperated. I was getting angry.

Therefore, I snapped, “How’s that?”

“Feb is not an issue,” he fired back but again gave me no more.

“Right, well, I’m still in love with Greg. Is that an issue for you?” I returned nastily and dishonestly.