The words hung between us, sharp and accusing.
I swallowed hard. “I was going to leave a note.”
“A note.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just bitterness. “Yeah. That’s perfect.”
My temper flared, overriding my embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry. What’s the proper etiquette for the morning after? I must have missed that chapter in my dating handbook.”
“How about not running away like what happened meant nothing?”
“I wasn’t—” I stopped, because that was exactly what I’d been doing. “This is ridiculous. Can I at least get dressed?”
“Go ahead.” He didn’t look away and give me the courtesy of privacy.
Fine. If he wanted to be a jerk about it, I could match him.
I turned my back and started pulling on my underwear with as much dignity as I could muster—which was approximately none. My hands were shaking as I struggled with my bra clasp.
“Need help?” His voice was closer now, and I jumped.
“I’ve got it,” I snapped, finally getting the clasp hooked. I yanked on my sweater and jeans, my movements jerky and graceless. When I turned around, he was standing right there, close enough to touch, wearing just those low-slung that made him look devastating as hell.
“Why were you leaving?” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense.
“Because.” I grabbed my shoes, needing something to do with my hands. “Because this was... I shouldn’t have... You’re you, and I’m me, and last night was probably a mistake.”
His jaw clenched. “A mistake.”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I threw my hands up, frustrated. “I don’t know how to do this, okay? I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“How about the truth?”
“The truth?” I laughed, sharp and brittle. “The truth is I woke up in your bed and panicked. Because men like you don’t actually want women like me when the sun comes up. Because last night was probably just... I don’t know, scratching an itch or whatever. And I’d rather leave with my dignity intact than stick around for you to tell me it didn’t mean anything.”
Silence.
He stared at me, something unreadable flickering across his face. Anger? Hurt? I couldn’t tell.
“You done?” His voice was harder than I’d ever heard.
“I—what?”
“Are you done assuming you know what I’m thinking? What I want?”
My throat went tight. “Tucker—”
“Get out.”
The words hit like a slap.
“What?”
“You want to leave so bad, leave.” He turned away from me, shoulders rigid. “The door’s that way.”
For a second, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. This was what I’d expected, wasn’t it? This was why I’d tried to sneak out. To avoid exactly this.
So why did it hurt so much?
“Fine.” I walked into the living room and grabbed my purse. I stood at the front door, blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “Have a nice life, Tucker.”
