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“I find that might be a little difficult for me and oh so convenient for you, considering every time I’ve run into you, something shady as fuck is going on and you’re a complete jackass when you talk to me.”
Of course, it’s convenient for me. That’s the entire reason I’m even bothering with this. If it weren’t convenient, I’d drop her car from the lift, slap her on her heart shaped ass and send her on her way.
I can’t stand mouthy women.
My brows lift with surprise and I’m honestly a little proud of her. She didn’t immediately dive into a pissed off tirade about what she thinks of my idea and just where I can shove it.
Maybe she’s not as mouthy as I thought.
Giving it some more thought, I’m also a little confused at what she means byevery time.
By my count, we had one bad encounter at the governor’s mansion, which was my fault, and a second encounter at Myth last night. Which wasalsomy fault, but she doesn’t know that.
However, last night, I was also perfectly nice about it.
If anything, she was being rude and owes me an apology.
Unable to let her false statement pass, I continue.
“I’ll admit I was a jerk when we met at the governor’s mansion. I should have apologized for spilling the drink on you. But I wasn’t a jerk to you last night—”
“No, you were just stealing my car.”
I hold up a finger because … busted.
Fucking Priest and his big mouth.
“Okay, that may be true, but I still wasn’t a jackass to you—”
“No,” she interjects again. “You were a jackass at Myth the night you started a fight that almost got me killed.”
I push away from the door frame to stand up straight.
Blinking my eyes in confusion, I run a hand through my hair. “You were at Myth that night?”
“Obviously you don’t remember—”
Obviously…
I raise my voice to interrupt. “Well, yeah. But I still can’t figure out why you’re so pissed about it.”
This chick doesn’t make sense. Okay, so we had a difficult run-in at the governor’s mansion, but why is she so mad about the fight at Myth? That had nothing to do with her.
Unless…
A curious grin tugs at the corners of my lips, my demeanor shifting instantly which only sets her more on edge.
“Don’t tell me you wanted me to remember you. Because if that’s the case—”
Brinley slams a fist on the dirty reception desk in front of her. Papers shift from the sudden airflow, the tools and other debris rattling in place.
“I don’t give a shit about whether you remember me or not.”
She’s lying.
I can hear the truth in her voice.
“But punching some guy right next to me while the cops were in the process of arresting you, and almost injuring me in the process is enough to leave a bad taste in my mouth.”
