Page 64 of Pretty Lies

Okay.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she asked, unfazed at his burning stare still locked on her.

There, it was out.

She said it.

He could explain or not.

Cory said nothing.

Della wasn’t having that. “Seriously, how did we go from laughing together in bed to you barely speaking to me all week unless you had to? Or is it that you got what you were looking for so now you’re not even going to pretend to be a decent guy?”

With a dark laugh, Cory turned around all at once. He took the three steps to stand up against the kitchen island, directly across from her with those paper bags between them, just to place his palms along the edge while he leaned over closer to her.

“That’s what it really boils down to for you, right?” he asked, his voice a dangerous murmur.

Della’s brow dipped, her mouth opening to form words that she wasn’t even sure she should speak, “What are you—”

“You should really mind your conversations more,” Cory interjected fast. “What you said to J at the restaurant a week ago—about me?—yeah, I heard that.”

A heavy weight found Della’s chest.

It sat there.

Then it spread.

Her words didn’t form.

Oh.

Why did he look hurt, though?

Had she misjudged …

“And why do you even care?” Cory asked her. “About whether or not we’re fucking talking, you know? If the first thing you see when you look at me is a bad dude, don’t worry about whether or not we’re having conversations, Della. It’s all good.”

She went quiet.

He didn’t seem to mind.

Della finally understood the meaning of tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. Cory looked like the very last thing he wanted to do was stand there for another second and talk to her, but he didn’t move. Pride, maybe.

He had a lot of that, she noticed.

So did she.

This time, though, Della was sure she was the wrong one.

His face said that.

“If this was only supposed to be fun,” she said, deciding to let her thoughts out to play, “then why are we doing this—fighting like this—right now?”

Cory’s cheek twitched. “I don’t know.”

Huh.

“I’m sorry,” Della said, though she knew without an explanation, it probably wouldn’t mean very much to him. She took one step away from the island, breaking his gaze first. “But really, thanks for bringing my groceries in. I gotta … think.”