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She shrugs, her luscious lips scrunched, face schooled in a sheepish facade. “I guess I don’t know exactly. Your inability to stay hard, inferiority complex, poor performance. Whatever.” She crosses her hands in the air, shooing this bullshit away. “It’s none of my business. The earning your cock bit is a good cover. Most girls probably buy it as some dominance play. Smart. That’s not surprising though. You are a genius, which is good. I’m sure that helps conceal your other shortcomings.”
She waltzes toward the stairs with that last sentence, her shiny espresso hair swishing to and fro as she disappears into the second level, as though we’re actually finished.
I probably should’ve retorted, but I’m kind of hung up on the fact that she called me a genius, like a kid who finally garners parental approval for swinging high enough.
What the hell is wrong with me? In over my fucking head.
Gage glances at me with a smile that’s nearly cracking his face open. “Is that how all your communications go with her, man?”
“No. It’s a ping-pong match. And she called me a genius,” I argue. Like a dumbass.
He spits a cackle, sips his coffee, and shakes his head. “Sounds like you adhered to the no-fucking rule.”
Now that I think about it, that little jab in front of Gage is brutal. Ruthless girl.
Waving him off, I spare him a few details to fill in the misconstrued picture he’s envisioning. “We kissed. She got feisty. I put a stop to it.”
“Did I hear something about earning your cock?” He can’t even keep his motherfucking mouth straight.
Knowing what’s coming, I drink my coffee and say nothing.
He bends in half—doubled over—howling into his hands. “Fucking Christ, brother.”
Ignoring him, I finish off the final bites of my Danish and smack him with the most imperative takeaway. “You saw nothing, heard nothing, know nothing. The last thing I need is Wells or Ivy reading more into this than there is.”
“Which is?” he asks, wiping tears from his eyes.
Why don’t I have a clear answer for that?
I shrug, as though that clarity is of no consequence. “She messed with me, so I messed with her. Putting her in her place, I guess.”
We’re way past that, but hell if I know where that is.
“Yeah.” He bobs his head, still fighting his amusement at my expense. “You suck at that. She ran you over with a smile, and all you gleaned from it was that she called you a genius.”
My mouth creeps up to a smirk. “It was something.”
She’s as fucked up as I am. Even her insults have commendations laced through them.
Gage wrinkles a dubious brow. “It was generous since you’re the moron who got her all hot and bothered before her date with another man.”
That’s a mic-drop sentence. Or a record scratch.
My ears are ringing. Room spinning.
“Shit,” I hiss. “Dustin Barclay. That’s tonight?”
“Yep. I’m accompanying Rex and his crew for security.” He pauses, peeling off the top of the muffin I lobbed at him. “He mentioned that you were kinda high strung yesterday.”
“Yeah. Fucking Ty.” I gather my coffee cup, pitch my trash, and formulate my thoughts on the way to the sink to rinse my cup. “I’m going with Rex tonight.”
“No way, man. That sounds like a colossally bad idea. He said you had her pinned against a barn.”
“What the hell?” I bark, shutting the water off. “You got a morning gossip group with the ladies guarding Carver? Christ.”
“When you act like a short-fused asshole, word spreads,” he says, and I can hear the damn humor in his tone.
“I’m. Going,” I insist, leaving no room to brook another objection.
