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“You actually get to use your couch tonight?” he mumbles, pulling the containers from the bag.
“Yeah. I’m not sure where Tristan is. Probably out looking for work.”
“Seems kind of pointless, no? Who would hire him?”
I rein in my irritation as I move to the kitchen. I still don’t understand Pierce’s issue with Tristan. He never even gave him a chance, but I guess I can see how it would be threatening for your girlfriend to be living with another man. I’m definitely glad he doesn’t know I used to be in love with that man.
Used to be?
I push the ridiculous thought away and scoop some utensils from the drawer.
“Someone will give him a chance, eventually,” I say, handing him a fork.
He grunts and opens a container of chips.
“I don’t like you being around him, Isabel. You’re still looking for somewhere else to live, right?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “It’s going to be hard, though. I can’t really afford anything on my own. I can barely afford this place, and Kim isn’t even charging me the full amount.”
“You could stay in one of the guest rooms at my parents’ house.”
I stiffen. “No, thanks.”
“Why not? They have plenty of space. Hell, you could probably have your own wing.”
“Live with your parents by myself? You don’t even live there.”
He shrugs. “So what? They’re barely ever there.”
I shake my head. “It’s an extra twenty-minute drive up to The Hills.”
“Twenty minutes from where? If you lived there, you’d never have to be down in this dump at all. Seriously, I cross my fingers every time I park at your building.”
I can’t stop my glare as my fingers tighten around my fork. “This dumpis my home, Pierce. I was born and raised here. The house I grew up in is right down the street.”
“House? Trailer, you mean.”
Anger shoots through me. “If my background is so distasteful to you, then why are you here? I never signed up for a rich sugar daddy to save me. I love who I am and where I’ve come from.”
Pushing up from the couch, I storm to the kitchen in the guise of getting a drink. His snobbery shows itself often, but rarely this blatantly. Or maybe I’m just more sensitive to it today for some reason.
“Isabel, come on. You’re overreacting, like usual,” Pierce says, following me. “I’m only trying to help.”
I fish through the fridge for a soda.
“You know I don’t care about your past. In fact, I like that you’re trying to better yourself.”
Better myself?Is he serious? I’m going to scream.
“How is forcing me to leave my best friend andmy homesupposed to help mebetter myself?” I snap at him.
He steps back in surprise, and I have to admit, it feels good to stand up for myself for once. My conversation with Tristan in this very spot a few days ago has been haunting me. I was pissed that day when he criticized how Pierce treated me, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized a lot of it was true. I don’t know how or when it happened, but somehow I’ve fallen into the habit of being a follower. That’s never been me, the one who took charge to overcome every hardship. I’ve always looked out for myself because I learned early on no one else would. Maybe that was the problem. It felt good to have someone take care of me for once and make the decisions.
But suddenly, I’m seeing my relationship with Pierce in a whole new light. Is he taking care of me or controlling me? Time and again over the years, I’ve felt like his sidekick more than his equal. Am I just a shiny accessory in his life? Even worse, am I a charity project to make him feel good about himself and show off to his friends?
“I’m not being dramatic,” I say, straightening from the fridge. “You’re being unreasonable to expect me to uproot and move my entire life because you don’t like the person sleeping on our couch.”
Once the shock wears off, Pierce’s gaze darkens. “I don’t think it’sunreasonableto not want your girlfriend living with some criminal. Pretty sure no guy would let his girl stay in that situation.”
