Ask Me Why(16)

“Uh-huh. Daddy took me swimming and out for ice cream. We even went to the movies.”

“Lucky duck. I haven’t been to the theater in ages.”

He makes a squeaking sound. “What? No way. Wanna come with us next time?”

Braelyn’s slender throat bobs. I’m fascinated by the movement. I get a rise thinking about the conflicting emotions raging inside of her. How will she answer? There’s no way in hell she’d agree. The air grows dense, enough to choke on, as her silence stretches.

Finally, she opens her mouth. “I’ll have to check my calendar, buddy. It’s hard to get away from the store.”

He bounces on his toes. “Okay, great. Talk to my dad about it. Can I go play now?”

Braelyn beams at him. “Of course, kiddo. You know where the toys are.”

That’s all he needs to hear before darting down the designated aisle. I watch him disappear in a flash of red and denim. When I look at Braelyn, the thundering in my pulse roars. She’d been all smiles for him, but now all evidence of happiness melts away. When she turns to me, a scowl mars her features. My gut twists painfully, and that stops me short. Am I seriously jealous of my son? That’d be a hell no. I roll my shoulders and strengthen my resolve.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Braelyn crosses her arms, shoving a pair of luscious tits up for my viewing pleasure. I almost applaud the shirt’s low neckline, but thank the summer heat instead. No point giving her ass any credit for wearing less clothing.

I try to keep my focus on her face. “Is it?”

“No, not at all. I could smell your hostility from a block away.”

Well, this is escalating quickly. “What’s your fucking deal?”

Braelyn’s mouth forms a flat line. “Care to be more specific? You seem to have a myriad of issues with me.”

Her smooth features distort. I wait for her to explode or have another panic attack. She just continues glaring at me.

I clear my throat. “In general, what’s wrong with you?”

The apple of her cheek twitches. “Real tactful, asshole.”

“Meh, I’m not in the habit of mincing words.”

“Clearly.” Her tone is desert dry.

“So?” I tap my loafer on the tile floor.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was involved in a car wreck. The accident left some lingering effects.” Her blank expression hides the rest, and I choose to ignore her lack of detail. For now.

“Were you driving?”

“No.”

“All right.”

Braelyn rests her weight on one leg. “What’s your story?”

I point at myself. “You’re looking at it.”

“Good to know the sharing was one sided.”

“I never promised to return the favor.” My smirk makes a reappearance. “At least not in that way.”

The flush racing up her neck gets my blood pumping hotter. She ruins it with a sneer. “As if that’d ever happen.”

That’s the damn truth. The chances are higher that I’ll run for president, but she doesn’t know that. I grant myself permission to take a lazy perusal of her body. Goosebumps break out across her arms. Watching her squirm is fucking fascinating. “We’ll see.”

“We really won’t.”

Once again, she easily casts me aside. I don’t care enough to ask her why. But the brushoff is still aggravating as fuck. I narrow my gaze on hers. “You’re so certain.”

“And, for whatever reason, you’re extremely determined.”

“Considering my profession, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She studies me for a few moments. “What is it you do for a living?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

She snorts. “That was my one and only guess.”

I glance down at my plain tee and jeans, raising a brow. “Am I that obvious?”

Braelyn twirls a finger in the air, building up steam. “You’re very…” she trails off for a moment before settling on, “cunning and conniving. I imagine you mowing down witnesses in the courtroom.”

I cross my arms. “Talk about a fucking stereotype.”

“If the shoe fits.” She shrugs, not backing down in the slightest.

Two can play at this game. I open my wallet and take out a glossy card. “If you’re ever in the market for a divorce attorney, give me a call.”

She scans the name—Bysek & Associates—and flicks my offering away. “Hard pass. I’m never getting married, therefore I won’t need a divorce.”

I scoff. “Looks like we agree on something.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she mutters under her breath.

“You’re quite the spitfire.”

Her husky laugh cups my balls and applies just the right amount of pressure. “Never in my life have I been called anything close to that.”

“Well, there’s always a first for everything.” Am I fucking flirting with this chick? After a quick deliberation, I figure why the hell not. I take another opportunity to openly check her out, making my leering known. Other than the deep neckline, her shirt is nothing special. Her flowy skirt touches the ground and hides anything of value. Lucky for me, I have a vivid imagination.