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The clock says it’s twenty after six. Twenty minutes after I told Lexie to be here.
Scrambling out of bed, I rush to the front door. It’s not that I care that she’s been standing out there. As far as I’m concerned, she’s getting what she deserves. What does concern me is her getting hold of her father, telling him that I bailed or some shit. The last thing I need to do is piss of Coach more than I already have.
“About time,” she says when I finally open the door. The words are said with an annoyance that matches the look on her face. A look that changes quickly to wide eyes that fill with shock as they travel down my torso.
Following her gaze, I look down at my dick just hanging out. In the rush to answer the door I had completely ignored that I was naked.
“Enjoy the view, princess. It’s the last time you’ll see it.”
I turn around, leaving her standing on the porch, slack jawed.
“Hey, Carter?”
I turn my head to look at her.
“Just remember… two can play that game, and I assure you, I will win.”
Chapter11
Lexie
An hour and a half into our drive, neither of us have spoken a word. Not that I expected anything different. Carter hates me. He’s made that abundantly clear. He can hate me all he wants, but we’re in this together—for better or for worse. I would much prefer better, but he seems pretty dead set on making us both suffer.
“What?” The sound of his voice breaks through my thoughts.
Suddenly I am hyperaware that I’ve been staring at him. Shit.
“Nothing, sorry,” I say, hoping he would pry, urge me to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, he refocuses his attention back on the road ahead. Unwilling to let this opening slip away, I say his name. When he glances in my direction, I take it as permission to continue.
“I know I messed up, and I know you hate me.”
“Stop.”
“Carter…”
“Just, stop. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we don’t have much of a choice here. We’re stuck together. We may as well try to make the best of it.”
“The best of it?” he scoffs. “I’m stuck with a liar who used me to get a job with her Daddy.”
“I did not use you,” I argue.
“Whatever you say, princess.”
“Quit calling me that.”
A term of endearment I once loved hearing, he’s now using to insult me.
“Why? It’s what you are right? Daddy’s spoiled little princess who gets whatever she wants?”
“You don’t know anything about me.” I shake my head, irritated by his assumptions and behavior.
“No shit. Learned that real quick yesterday.”
“You know, you’re not the only one who’s angry.”
“What in the hell do you have to be angry about?”
