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His strides slow but he takes a few moments to come to a complete stop. Turning back to me, he says, “There’s a difference between an asshole and a man who doesn’t want to get into a conversation. I’m not an asshole.”
“Trust me when I tell you that you’ve pulled some real asshole moves on me this year. Just because you didn’t get what you wanted doesn’t give you free reign to treat me badly.”
“That’s fucking rich coming from you.”
I hate that he has a point and immediately feel guilty over that. “I’m sorry I used you that night. I shouldn’t have done that. But I haven’t treated you badly since then, Bradford.”
“I’m not referring to that night.”
“What are you referring to, then?”
He clenches his jaw while looking at me like he can’t believe he’s even talking to me. “I’m not doing this with you. I should have listened to you that night when you told me we were done because we really fucking were.”
My eyes go wide at the same time my words fail me. I’m left staring after Bradford in silence as he walks away from me.
The soft click of his door as it closes behind him leaves me alone with my thoughts. Well, actually, it leaves me with only one thought: what the fuck is he talking about?
And as I continue standing there staring at the empty hallway, wondering what the hell is going on, I latch onto another thought that is far more useful: wine was surely made for this sort of thing.
I need some.
No, I need alot.
And if Vegas is not the place to consume as much wine as possible, I don’t know what is.
27
Bradford
I look at Kristen who’s sitting across from me at dinner. She’s doing her best to avoid eye contact while drinking wine like it’s going out of fashion. The success she’s having with the wine outweighs the success she’s having at pretending I don’t exist.
Getting her out of my head has proved difficult this weekend, particularly so after we argued this afternoon. That was right after I put my hands on her and initiated a conversation I never should have started.
Fuck.
I’m still as attracted to her as I ever was. I still fucking want her. And not even going out of my way to avoid her has helped any of those feelings disappear. I’m convinced they’ll never go away.
“So,” Charlize says looking at me, “I heard you ended up in the rough today. What happened?”
“Have you figured out what the rough is yet?”
“No, and honestly, I’m really not that interested in knowing. But I did pick up from what you were putting down yesterday that it’s not ideal. Were you off your game today?”
“I think the fact I won the game speaks for itself.”
Charlize smiles. “Well, there is that, but”—she narrows her eyes at me—“you know I’m always trying to figure you out. I wondered what thoughts were going through your mind for you to end up in the rough.”
“The only thought ever going through Bradford’s mind is how to get what he wants,” Kristen says from across the table, her eyes firmly on mine.
I hold her gaze, unable for the life of me to look away and not engage. “Isn’t that part of what life’s about? Finding ways to get what we want.”
“Sometimes it is,” she says as everyone stops the conversation they’re having so they can listen to ours.
“And at other times? What’s life about then?”
“Oh, I don’t know, letting people come to breakfast at whatever time they prefer.”
She’s referring to this morning when I told her what time I’d be finished breakfast. I don’t bother correcting her that my intention was for her to know when I’d be done so that she didn’t have to run into me if she didn’t want to.
