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“Knocking you out with a shovel. It’s a work conference, Nathan, in a professional environment. I don’t go to your work things.”
“What?” He yells in an outrage. “I don’t go to any conferences without you, and you know it.”
God, he doesn’t really. That was a bad example.
I put my head under the water, hoping it will block him out. I wash my hair as he paces back and forth in the bathroom, livid.
“I know how this goes. He takes you to dinner, gets you drunk, and the next thing you know, you wake up naked in his bed, full of remorse.”
I roll my eyes. “You make it sound like I don’t get hit on, ever. I get hit on every day by men, you know, Nathan? I can look after myself, and quite frankly, I’m fucking annoyed that you would even say that, let alone think it.”
“I’m not saying it about you,” he splutters, “I’m saying it about him.”
I turn my back to him, my anger rising by the second. “Well, don’t. I’m offended at the mention of it. This is my job, Nathan. Get out.”
“Resign. Come and work for me. It’s only a matter of time before you do, anyway.”
“No.” Here we go again. “I’m not working for you, I told you that. Besides, I like my job.”
He narrows his eyes. “You do, do you?”
My rubber band snaps, and I step out of the shower. Water sloshes everywhere. “Listen, asshole, around the time I had this interview and accepted this job and the conditions that I had to go to this conference, you were snorting cocaine from strippers’ stomachs and getting a head job by a girl called Stephanie.”
His face falls.
“So, don’t you dare,”—I poke him hard in the chest—“have the audacity to slut-shame me for going on a work conference. If you want to fight, Nathan, let’s fucking go! Because I sure as shit have more to be pissed about than you do.”
He puts his hands on his hips and glares at me, knowing full well that he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.
“Do not bring this up again,” I warn him. “I’m going to my work conference, and you are going to support me like a loving partner. Grow the fuck up.”
He storms from the bathroom.
My heart races as the adrenaline pumps through my body, and I get back under the water. Eventually, I calm down and smile proudly. I won that fight, fair and square.
Take that.
Nathan turns the page of his book, and I glance over at him as he sits on the lounge chair. He’s in his navy-blue, s
ilk boxer shorts, and he has been reading for hours. “Are you not talking to me?” I ask.
“I’m talking to you.” He says as his eyes stay glued to his book.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Come over here and kiss me, perhaps?”
He turns the page again. “I’m not in the mood for kissing.”
I roll my eyes, there’s no way he read that page that quick, he’s sitting there sulking, that’s what he’s doing. “Okay, suit yourself.” I get up and walk into the bedroom to clean my teeth.
“What are you doing?” he calls.
“Going to bed.”
“You don’t say goodnight now?”
