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He pauses. Presses his lips together.
I tilt my chin. “Only people who’ve been through it can talk like that.”
“Maybe.”
He hides it well though. I never would have guessed.
Hesitantly, I ask, “What did you do? To get over it?”
“Me?” He leans back. Rubs his stubbly chin. “Still not over it.”
“That must be tough.”
He shrugs. “I made a promise to never put myself in that position again.”
“Not at that stage yet.” I point to my chest
“Where are you?”
“Anger.”
His lips quirk up. “The violent route?”
“My next stop is his place.”
“Let me guess. You’ll slap him? Maybe kick his junk?”
“I’ll key his car.”
His lips twitch again. “You got a good lawyer?”
“Do I need one?”
“There’s a fine.”
“I’ll drain my bank account.”
“That’s a lot of cash to part with for temporary relief.” He looks me up and down, his gaze darkening. “There are plenty of other, more enjoyable ways to get over him that don’t involve jail time.”
“You’re suggesting I get under someone else?”
“I offer myself as a sacrifice. It’s a noble cause.”
“How benevolent.”
He laughs.
“I’m more of a revenge girl myself.” I tilt my head, ignoring the less-than-subtle invitation to spend the night with him. “And I don’t trust guys who sound like they’ve been on the receiving end of many ruined paint jobs.”
His shoulders lift and then fall back down.
Guilty.
“You’d be letting him off easy.”
“Doubt you’d say that if you knew how much he adores that truck.”
“Should I clear my schedule? Destroy him with you?” His dark eyes meet mine, dragging me in.
