The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(63)

She opens the refrigerator with force and then pulls out the nearly empty wine bottle and holds it up. Her eyes flicker with rage.

“It was nice . . . actually. Went with the pizza and all that.”

She looks at me deadpan. “You drank my wine?”

“Don’t change the subject. Why does me dating other women annoy you?”

“It doesn’t,” she snaps angrily. “I don’t have time for your shit tonight. Go home.”

I put my hands onto my hips. “I can’t drive. I’ve been drinking.”

“My wine,” she growls.

I cross my arms and look her up and down with a smile. “You’re in a very bad mood. Am I right in assuming Paul from Pilates is responsible?”

“No, you’re not, actually. Tristan Miles is responsible.” She storms out of the room.

My mouth falls open. Of all the nerve. I rush in behind her. She goes to Patrick on the couch. She bends to pick him up in her arms.

“I’ll do it.”

“No.” She slaps me out of the way. “I don’t want you anywhere near my devil children.”

“Oh.” I roll my eyes as she struggles to pick Patrick up. “This is about what I said about the wizard.”

“His name is Harry, and yes, I do take offense to some pompous, spoiled asshole telling me that my children are misbehaved when he knows nothing about what they have been through,” she whispers angrily. “Get out of my way,” she says as she struggles with Patrick’s weight.

I step to the side. “You’re especially bitchy tonight.”

She brushes past me and walks upstairs, and I follow her.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Following you. What does it look like?”

“I swear to God, Tristan, I’m going to push you down the stairs in a moment. Go home.”

“I see where they get it, Claire.”

She turns back to me. “Get what?”

“This violent streak you have is very unbecoming.”

She stops where she is and walks back down a step toward me, and I shrink back from her. “Tristan.”

“Yes, Claire.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’m going to shut it for you.”

“Violent,” I mouth as I follow her upstairs and watch from the doorway as she lays Patrick down in bed and takes his shoes off. She brushes his hair back from his forehead and kisses him good night. She then turns the light off, and we walk back out into the hallway.

“Where’s your bedroom?” I ask.

“A place that you’ll never get to. Go downstairs.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to go there anyway, Claire.”

Her eyes hold mine. “Good.”

“Yes, good,” I blurt back. “We’re over, remember?”

“Exactly, so why bother coming here?”

We stare at each other, and that feeling comes over me, the one where I want to push her up against the wall and kiss her senseless.

Her eyes drop to my lips, and I know she can feel it too.

“Well, where am I going to sleep?” I ask. “I can’t drive.”

“Call your limo driver.”

“He’s off tonight.”

“Why not call an Uber?”

“They ran out of cars.”

She narrows her eyes. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Tristan.” She brushes past me and rushes back down the stairs as I stay hot on her heels.

“So where will I sleep?” I ask.

With you?

“I suppose you can have Woofy’s bed, and he can sleep with me.”

My face falls in horror. “You would rather sleep with the dog than with me?”

“I would, actually.”

“What happened to the fun, hot Claire who fucks me senseless?”

Her eyes meet mine, and the look on her face is murderous. “She woke up to herself,” she whispers. “When she realized what a fucktard you are.”

My mouth drops open as I feign shock.

She walks forward toward me, and I walk backward. “You barge into my home, uninvited, and then drink my fucking wine. Not to mention—” She cuts herself off.

I shrug as I nearly trip over the couch behind me. “Well . . . apart from those things.”

“Go home, Tristan.”

“Is this about me going out with that other woman?”

“I don’t care who you date.”

“Is that a lie, Claire? Because you seem to care.”

“Go home,” she snaps.

“I can’t. I’m over the limit.”

“Fine, you’re on the couch.”

“Can we talk about this?” I reply.

“No.” She goes to a cupboard and retrieves a blanket and pillow and throws them at me with force.

I catch them midair. “You’re not very hospitable, Claire,” I huff. “You really should work on this.”

She rolls her eyes and goes to the stairs. “I hope Muff pees on your head.” She stomps up the stairs.