Playing for Keeps (Heartbreaker Bay #7)(27)

Okay, so he was aware he was pissing her off. Brownie points for that. But he lost points for being a stupid male. “We agreed to fifty-fifty.”

“As it pertained to physical custody,” he said. “But not monetarily. You’ve got enough on your plate right now, working two jobs and trying to build up your clientele.”

He probably had no idea that he’d just stomped right on her rawest nerve and secret fear—that no matter how hard she worked, she wouldn’t ever make it. Stepping closer, she poked a finger in his pec, which was a lot more solid than she’d anticipated. “I agreed to share custody,” she said, “but to be clear, Lollipop is the rescue, not me. I’m not a charity case.”

He grimaced and shoved a hand through his hair so that it looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. It should’ve made him look silly, but it actually had the opposite effect.

“You’re not a rescue or a charity case,” he said. “In fact, you’re one of the strongest, most capable women I know. But—”

“No,” she said. “Stop right there. Nothing good ever comes after a but.” Unable to listen to reason, her fragile ego already bruised, she poked him again, harder this time so that it actually hurt her finger, which caused a flare of irritation in his eyes. He grabbed her hand in his and held tight.

Dammit, he really did have an edge to him and that was dangerously attractive.

No longer dating the wrong-for-me guys , she reminded herself. “This is a bad idea,” she said. A colossally bad idea.”

“The shared custody or getting food?” he asked.

“Both. But especially going to eat.”

“Why?”

“Because a guy like you doesn’t . . .” She broke off, unwilling to finish the sentence she never should have started.

“A guy like me,” he repeated. “Doesn’t what?”

What part of this wasn’t he getting? “You could have anyone,” she said. “Which means not someone like me.”

“Wow,” he said quietly even though his eyes flashed anger, proving once again he was much more efficient at managing his temper than she was. “Impressive. You just managed to insult both of us in a single sentence.”

She closed her eyes. “Yeah. I’m real good at that when I don’t know what I’m doing. I lash out. I tried to warn you.” She opened her eyes and gave him this truth at least. “I think I do it to make sure I don’t have an audience for the occasionally really dumbass things I do—which I usually don’t realize are dumb until right after I’ve done them.”

He surprised her by letting out a self-deprecating laugh, like he maybe did the same thing, which she highly doubted. Then he gave a little tug on her hand, which he was still holding in his, so that she was forced to take a step into him. “You aren’t conceited enough to think you’re the only one of the two of us who has made mistakes, right?” he asked. “Because we’ve all made mistakes, Sadie.”

It was the first time he’d ever said her name and the sound of it on his lips stilled her. There were other reactions too, but nothing that should be happening out in public.

“You think we’re too different,” he said.

“To be co-dog owners?” She shook her head. “No.”

“You know that’s not what I mean. You think we’re too different for this.” He waggled a finger between them and her stomach jangled some more.

“There’s no this,” she said.

He let out a low laugh. “Did you know that when you lie, you break eye contact? It’s your tell.” He waited until her gaze flew back to his, her temper renewed, before quietly saying, “You don’t know enough about me to make that decision. And I get it. You don’t want to know enough about me, because then you might be interested.”

“Seriously,” she murmured. “Are you some kind of mind reader?”

He wasn’t feeling playful. “I’ve had a really long day, and I’m going to guess you did too. So while I get a kick out of bickering with you, I’m too hungry to keep up, so can we agree to disagree until after we get food?”

“I didn’t agree to food,” she said.

“You don’t like tacos? No problem. You pick.”

She eyed the alley, thinking that was her shortcut out of here, but he tightened his grip on her hand.

“Don’t run off,” he said.

“I don’t like it when people tell me what to do.”

“I get that,” he said. “And same. Also, I try very hard to never tell anyone what to do. But I think we need to finish this. Please .”

Another quiver from deep inside her. “I keep telling you, there’s no this.”

“Are you sure?” Very slowly and carefully, clearly giving her plenty of time to get away if she really wanted, he stepped into her, making her extremely aware that she now stood hemmed in between the alley wall and his body, neither quite touching her.

But she wanted him too. She actually ached to close that last inch between them. She didn’t do it. Instead, she lifted her chin. “I could make you a eunuch right now if I wanted.” The threat was minimalized by the fact that she whispered it, but suddenly holding on to her temper was difficult. So was talking. “Don’t think I can’t.”