Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(31)
“What is it, babe?” I snarl and he jerks back. “Is there something in my teeth?”
His eyes narrow. “Are you okay?”
He did not just ask me that.
“Am I okay?” My fists clench at my sides. “Did you just ask me if I’m okay?”
He nods, but says, “No.”
“Good, that’s good Clifford, because if you’d asked me if I was okay, it would imply that you don’t know why the f*ck I’m not okay, and I hope to hell you are not that stupid.”
“Oh snap! She got you, Clifford!” one of his friends pipes up from the living room.
“Come on. I think we need to talk.” He grabs my arm, but I wrench it from his grip. He throws his hands up and nods down the hallway. “I just want to talk to you, babe, but not in front of an audience.”
I flick my hair, which took me an hour to flat iron, and stomp down the hallway to storm into his bedroom. He shuts the door behind us and I whirl on him. “If you don’t mind, can we skip the lies and excuses and move straight to the ass-kissing? That’s my favorite part anyway.”
“What the hell’s gotten into you?”
I grin. I can’t help it. He really is a f*ckin’ idiot. “You asked me out on a date tonight.” I say the words slow and clearly so he can understand. Maybe I should draw him a picture story, dumb shit.
He blinks and has the audacity to look confused. “Right. And I told you we we’re having a party.”
“After our date!”
He props his hands on his hips and sighs while studying his feet. “This is why I don’t do the girlfriend thing.”
“Excuse me? The girlfriend thing? Is that what you think this is?”
He meets me with an unwavering glare. “For me? Yeah.”
A laugh shoots from my lips. “Really? Because we’ve never even been on a date, Clifford. This isn’t even a real relationship; all we do is hook up!”
“If that’s true, then why are you all up on my nuts about a date?”
If that isn’t the million-dollar question. I sink my fingers into my hair and grip tight. “I don’t know.”
“Hey.” He steps closer to me, but still maintains some distance in case I might rip his dick off if he gets too close. Probably a smart bet. “I want to take you out to dinner, okay? I’d planned on asking you if you’d like that or if you want to order takeout, but you didn’t really give me a chance.”
He’s right. I didn’t. For all I know he could have a limo waiting out back ready to steal us off to some fantastic restaurant and Vegas show.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He lifts his brows and takes a tentative step closer. I end his trepidation by closing the distance between us and wrapping my arms around his middle. He holds me close and I sink into his embrace. It’s not the all-consuming hug that Killian delivers, but it’s a warm body, and that’s better than nothing.
He presses his lips to the top of my head. “You look so hot tonight.”
His compliments usually send me reeling, but tonight it just feels forced. Like the words of a desperate man who just learned he may not be getting laid. “Thanks.”
“You hungry?”
I’m really not, which makes this entire fight seem even stupider. Demanding I be taken out to dinner when I have no appetite? I really am a f*cking psycho. So I lie. “Yeah.”
“Okay, let me grab my shit and we’ll get a bite.” He pulls back. “Sound good?”
I nod and push out a smile that I hope doesn’t look as fake as it feels.
He moves to leave the room, but turns back. “Oh, and babe?”
“Yeah?”
He smiles brilliantly. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Fuck off.
*
Killian
Talk about flashbacks.
Stuck in traffic on my way to pick up Brynn, memories of the night I was supposed to take Axelle to the school dance flash through my mind. I often wonder where we’d be if Stewart hadn’t shown up that night. Even if he’d come just one day later, things could’ve been so different.
I had every intention of making my feelings for Axelle clear that night, and if she’d returned them, we would be together now. It seems presumptuous to think we’d still be together after four years, but it’s not. Because I know I would’ve done everything in my power to make her happy, and if she tried to leave me, I’d fight to get her back.
But fate had different plans for us, I guess.
And now I’m in my Jeep, wearing a dress shirt and a damn tie, on my way to pick up someone else while Axelle is most likely staring lovingly into the eyes of a complete ass-face, when she should be staring into mine.
Awesome.
I pull up to Brynn’s complex just a few minutes after seven. It takes a little time to find her building and door number, which is probably why she opened the door before I was even able to knock.
“I’m late. Sorry.”
She hits me with a brilliant smile. “No worries. We’re kind of tucked in the back here; people usually can’t find us. But at least now you know”—she shrugs—“for next time.”
Next time?