Capturing Peace (Sharing You 0.5)(11)

“Do you realize you’re standing on a playground, surrounded by little kids, and you keep cussing?”

“Do you realize your holier-than-thou attitude to hide what you’re really thinking and feeling makes you look like a bitch?”

Her eyebrows shot up, and her mouth opened with a soft huff.

“I know you’re careful, I told you, I get it. But nothing during the times I’ve seen you has made you come across as someone who’s independent and wanting to keep her life private. With the shit you’re spouting off, swear to God I would think you’re the most vain person I’ve ever met if I didn’t know any better. The world doesn’t revolve around you, and people don’t make it their mission in life to make yours a living hell.”

“I never said they did,” she gritted out.

“Really? I complimented you, and you immediately took it as something your brother must have set up. Because, heaven forbid, someone compliments you, and actually means it.”

“After everything else you just said about me, do you really think I would trust any compliment from you?”

Closing the distance between us, I bent my head so I was whispering in her ear. “That’s exactly my point. I compliment you, and you think it’s bullshit. I tell you that this mask you’re wearing makes you come off as someone I’m sure you’re not, and say that if I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re vain; and you automatically come to the conclusion that’s what I really think about you. You hear what you want to hear because it helps you keep up your guard.”

“You’re such an *.”

“Who’s cussing now?” Her hand came up to my bare chest, but instead of putting pressure against it, her fingers subtly curled against my skin. I moved so I could see her face, and had to bite back a smile when I noticed her eyes were zeroed in on her hand and my chest. Her breathing got heavier, and each breath brought us closer together again. “Drop the front, Reagan. The tough, uncaring act isn’t flattering. I don’t know you, but from the few glimpses I’ve seen when you’ve dropped your guard, and what I’ve heard, this isn’t you. You’re protecting yourself and you don’t trust guys—understandably—but we’re not all bad.”

“Coming from the guy who said I act like a bitch,” she said, and looked up at me. Her face would have been unreadable if it weren’t for her eyes, which were bright with amusement.

“I was proving a point, and you were acting like a bitch. Sorry if you don’t like honesty, but if you give me shit, be prepared to get it right back.”

“You’re a real charmer, you know that? And why do you say that like we’ll see each other again? After this lovely encounter, I’m pretty sure I’ll be avoiding you and your arrogant mouth at all costs.”

“There you go acting like you don’t care again. Don’t forget . . . I did hear your friend refer to me as ‘the hot Asian.’ ”

Her cheeks went red again, and just as she opened her mouth to respond, a small voice came from beside us.

“Mom . . . ?”

Reagan quickly pushed away from me, and we both turned to see two boys standing there. One with blond hair just like his mom’s.

“Hey, honey, what’s up?” Reagan asked, her voice shaky.

He looked over at me before looking back at his mom. “Who’s he?”

She had a lost look on her face when she glanced at me, and I just raised an eyebrow waiting for her response. “He’s uh . . . he’s Uncle Keegan’s friend. His name’s Coen.”

His chest puffed out as he crossed his arms and glared up at me. I had no doubt he’d perfected that look by watching his mom. “Are you being mean to my mom?”

I couldn’t help it, I barked out a laugh and bent down so I was eye level with him. “No way, bud. Because I’d be too scared of you coming to kick my butt if I were.”

“Oh God,” Reagan muttered, and I wondered if “butt” was a bad word for a kid his age.

He watched me for a few more seconds, like he was trying to figure out if he should still try to save his mom from me, before he relaxed his stance and pointed at the arm that was fully sleeved. “I like your arms. The stars are cool,” he said, and tapped one of three stars on my forearm.

“Yeah? Well maybe we’ll have to get you one.”

“Really?” he asked excitedly at the same time Reagan groaned. “Are you kidding?”

I stood and looked at her. “What? It would wash off after a few days.”

“Seriously, Coen?” She rolled her eyes at me and shook her head.

“Do yours wash off too?”

Looking back at the boys, I bent down again to talk to them. “No, but that’s ’cause I’m older.”

“How old until mine won’t wash off?”

“Never,” Reagan said at the same time I shrugged and said, “At least eighteen. So what, you have about two . . . three years left until then?”

Parker and his friend laughed. “I’m only six!”

“Six? Really? Hmm.” I clicked my tongue and made a face. “Guess you’ll have to hold off for a while then, yeah?”

“Oh my God, this isn’t happening,” Reagan huffed.