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“That implies we may not ever make it.”
I shrug, speeding up for kicks. “You never know.”
“That’s true.” She grips the oh-shit handle. “I rescind my thank you.”
“Nope, it’s already been thrown into the world. You can’t take it back.”
“That’s not very fair.”
I spare her a glance before changing lanes. “Life isn’t fair, princess.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” she mutters, not for me to hear.
But I do.
I hear her every damn time she hints that her life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows.
I can’t help the curiosity that rises, but in my typical fashion, I make sure to express it in the most condescending tone possible. I really can’t help myself.
“What do you know about suffering?”
A sound emanates from her mouth, and I can only imagine what she must be thinking.
Her life before my father.
She crosses her arms. “I let you belittle me. I let you say a lot of things to me . . . but do not tell me what I know about life. Unlike you, Trent, I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth.”
“Touché, princess.”
“Stop fucking calling me that.”
“Why would I do that?” I stop at a light and fix my entire attention on her, enjoying the pink flush of her skin. “It’s fun to get a rise out of you.”
“Maybe because you’re a decent person.”
“I’m not.”
“But I think you are.” She turns to face me. “You took care of me when I was hurt and bleeding after all.”
I didn’t think this through.
I am so fucked in this argument.
“Don’t delude yourself to think that meant anything.” I stare straight at the light, willing it to turn green and give me an excuse to drown out this conversation with the sound of my engine. “I was protecting my investment.”
“Sure, tell yourself that. We both know you are full of shit.”
The light finally puts me out of my misery.
I keep driving.
Instead of answering her statement, I reach my hand forward and turn on the radio.
I’m done listening to her speak.
Music blares through the speakers. Angry lyrics and long guitar solos.
From the corner of my eye, I glance over at her.
