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“So you’re saying this is all my fault? Because of the way I look?” I asked curiously, pausing when we made it to my car so I could dig up my keys.
“What?” he sounded confused. “No. That’s not what I was saying at all.”
But the more I thought about that idea, the more it ticked me off.
Once I had my keys in hand, I scowled into Gracen’s eyes and held up my car fob threateningly. “Let’s get one thing straight, mister. I did not invite him to hit on me because I was alone with a ponytail and wearing a freaking conservative pair of jeans, got it? He hit on me because he’s a creepy man who can’t control his own stupid impulses.”
“Hey! Alright.” Gracen lifted his hands innocently. “I got it. And I totally agree. I’m on your side here. And, for the record, I already said it wasn’t your fault and that you did nothing to invite his attention. Stop making me the bad guy just because I told you how I saw you when you walked in.”
Oh.
That was right. He’d only been describing his reaction to me entering the theater, not my creeper’s. And for some reason, that changed everything.
Warmth flooded my veins.
But why didn’t I mind attracting Gracen?
Strange how two men’s very similar thoughts toward me had elicited two very opposite effects from me.
I cleared my throat, not sure how to deal with that. So I frowned at Gracen and mumbled, “But you didn’t make a pass at me.”
He’d been rude and nasty for a couple of minutes there, but completely asexual. And that seemed to make all the difference in the world.
“Doesn’t mean the thought didn’t cross my mind,” he countered cockily. But a moment later, his eyes registered surprise, as if he suddenly realized what he was admitting. Glancing away guiltily, he cleared his throat before turning back and adding, “I mean, before I realized who you were and that I hated you, of course.”
Hated me?
Ouch. I didn’t much like the word hate coming from his lips whenever he referred to me.
Trying to hide the snippet of hurt it caused, I scowled and muttered, “Hate, huh? Wow. Thanks.”
He winced.
“Hey, I’m not the one who double-crossed Bella and drew that line in the sand between us.”
Cold dread clamped down on my stomach, and black spots danced in my vision. But seriously, why did he have to keep mentioning that particular event? It always made me feel sick to my stomach with the urge to defend myself so he’d stop thinking the worst of me.
I didn’t like knowing how awful he assumed I was. Though, I’m not sure why I cared. I should hate him right back.
But somewhere between the beginning of the movie and the end, and that whole part where he’d helped me out of my awkward situation, we’d—I don’t know—bonded, I guess.
At least I thought we had.
So, no, I didn’t like the idea of him hating me. It sucked a lot, actually.
But he had a point. With everything that had happened between me, and Bella, and that monster-who-shall-not-be-named, it was probably best not to have any kind of acquaintance with Gracen.
Even if he did have awesome taste in movies.
And he was probably the most beautiful man I’d ever seen, with the prettiest stormy blue-gray eyes and silken dark hair.
And he had a heroic sense of honor.
And he was easy to talk to.
And he made me feel safe.
Nothing could ever go anywhere between us. I didn’t want anything to do with anyone who might remind me of the worst era of my life, which is exactly what he would do.
