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He smirked. “She’s fine. She still hates you.”
“Oh?” I couldn’t keep the delight out of my voice or expression.
“Every woman I’ve ever tried to have any kind of a relationship with has good reason to hate you.”
“Good. The feeling is mutual.”
“That sounds like jealousy, tiger.”
I rolled my eyes, trying not to wince at his use of my other nickname. “How cute that you want to think so,” I bit back, “but you know me better. It’s a more simple hate I have for those stupid women. You know I never could tolerate idiots.”
“And you’re saying every woman I’ve dated is an idiot?”
“Every one of them that settled for my leftovers, yes.”
“Well, now, that’s all of them.”
“You’re a quick one. How’s your mother?”
That had us both smirking, though mine died as soon as I saw his.
His mother was a crazy harpy, so much so we’d always just naturally united against her. Well, back in the day we had.
Nowadays there wasn’t a cause on earth righteous enough to unite us.
“Same as ever,” he replied. “Crazy as shit, and evil as Satan.”
I didn’t ask about his gram. I didn’t need to. We still talked every week. She was the only reminder I had of him that was worth keeping in my life.
Everything else I’d left behind.
“How’s that director you were seeing?” he asked me, his mouth shaping into a grin that made me want to slap him.
He was mocking me, yet again. I had been seeing a director, no one terribly famous, but one that was successful enough. It’d been more of a friendship behind the scenes, holding hands for the camera sort of thing.
He’d just come out of the closet publicly.
To say that I was not happy to know that it’d amused Dante was a vast understatement.
What I hated, more than anything, was to be the butt of someone’s joke. Especially his.
I have a terrible temper. Even I am scared of it. And that famously destructive temper came out to play.
It was just as well.
The more I hurt Dante now, the better chance I had of getting rid of him.
I didn’t know why he’d come, and I didn’t want to.
No reason was good enough to drudge up all of these old, filthy feelings.
What I wanted to do—what I needed to do—was scare him off.
I smiled at him. My most vicious smile.
The one that cut him deep enough that we were both covered in the blood.
Saturated and dripping with it.
