Page 35 of Rough

I laughed. “Did you just give me air quotes?”

“Is that what they’re called?”

I fought the desire to laugh out loud and nodded. “Yep.”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Tough guys don’t use air quotes.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. They’re reserved for politicians and douchebags. You’ve not in politics, are you?”

He scoffed. “No.”

“That explains it, then. Never mind.”

I reached in my purse, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it on the table. “There’s a sheet of paper in there I’d like you to sign. Actually, there’s two of them. One for you, and one for me.”

He opened the envelope and pulled out the folded sheets of paper, looked at them, and then shot me a confused look. “What the fuck is this?”

“Proof of payment. I figured you preferred cash, and I didn’t want to pay for a money order, so I’m paying you in cash. You need to sign that so I’ve got proof that you’ve been paid.”

“Just handing me the money ain’t good enough?”

“Sorry, no.”

He unfolded one of the sheets of paper and read it. “Why not?”

“I need proof. To protect me.”

He peered over the top off the paper. “From what?”

“From you.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Nope.”

“Why?” He ran his fingers through his hair, clearing it away from his eyes. “My hair?”

I shook my head. “It’s not that.”

He raised his eyebrows. “’Cause I’m a biker?”

“Nope.”

Truthfully, his hair, and his beard were great. They reminded me of a past relationship, and they helped me remember, each time I saw them, just how much I didn’t want to be hurt again.

“Why?”

“You’re a man,” I said. “Men can’t be trusted.”

“Why not?”

“Just sign it, please.”

“Tell me why.”