Page 140 of The Last Good Man

He nods, a smile around his cigarette.

“You said you were a man of your word. You lied to metoo.”

He vaguely shakes his head.

“I never lied to you.”

Yet here we are.

Despite everything that went on, we’re nothing more than two strangers.

And then Aretha comes to mind—all the effort she had put into making herself presentable for him.

How can she lose her head over him?

How can I?

Furious with myself, I drop and crush the cigarette with the tip of my shoe.

“I need to go home,” I say curtly, and pivot to move away when he blocks my exit with his arm.

I find myself with my back against the wall and his frame hovering over me, practically hiding me from other people.

He flexes an arm against the wall above my head, his free hand sliding to my chin.

He tips my face up, forcing me to look at him.

His eyes glint like the northern lights, a smile woven in his gaze.

“How was your week, baby?”

Slowly, he drags his eyes down and moves his thumb over my lips.

There’s no lipstick left.It’s all gone from wolfing down that juicy hamburger.

“Hmm?” he murmurs.

“Why are you asking?”

“I don’t know… Making conversation?”hetosses at me with slight humor.

I grip his wrist but can’t remove his hand from my face.

“My week was fine. How about yours?”

“It was all right,” he drawls, evading my eyes. “Why are you mad?” he asks, pushing his eyes to my shoes.

“I’m not mad,” I snap.

He laughs.

“I can’t believe you,” I say, dawning on me he had set me up.

I push his chest hard, not moving him an inch, my reaction amusing him even more. The more I try to say or do something, the more trapped I am.

“I’m not mad, dammit,” I bark, hitting his chest again, my effort fruitless, his quiet laughter hovering over me.

“Okay. All right,” I say.

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