Page 79 of My Damaged Protector

Definitely irritation.

“Is that so? And what exactly isn't your place to say?”

I'm pressing his buttons and I know it, but it's not coming from a place of antagonism. I just want to clear the air that I'm not an alcoholic without having to say it directly.

Turning back to look at me, he sighs. “Look, I'm not exactly in the mood for an argument, and just in case you haven't noticed, I came here, too. But it's not to drink.”

“Hmmm. So you're telling me it's not your place to judge me but you're judging me anyway, just not directly.”

“I'm not judging you,” he says exasperatedly.

“You said you weren't here to drink.”

“And you are. So, why don't you just say what this is about and save us both the stress of continuing this conversation.”

Fine, he's right. I may as well stop beating around the bush.

“Fine, you're right. I guess I just don't want you thinking I'm going to squander all the money on alcohol, that's all.”

“And like I said, it's not my place to worry about that. But I believe you.”

Something about the way he says he believes me irks me. Why would he believe me?

“You believe me? Why?”

Squinting, he peruses me with his eyes for a full minute, and I don't give him the satisfaction of cowering under his gaze.

Breaking our eye contact, he looks away and nods.

“Something tells me you don't want to hear this, but it's the truth.” He goes silent for a few seconds before he starts to speak again. “Your aunt trusted you, and that's why she left you everything, and while it's not my job to question her judgment, I actually agree with her decision.”

I know bullshit when I hear it, and right now this guy is feeding me a whole plate of shit.

“What makes you agree with her decision? Because you think I'm a good man?”

Chuckling, he gives me a side glance before placing his hands on the counter. He starts to open his bag.

“You're just going to pick at my words no matter what I say. Unfortunately, that's not why I'm here.”

“Maybe we should get back to why you're here then, although I do remember telling you that I would call for us to meet. But you're here anyway, so it's either you followed me here or you're here for a drink too, which you're too ashamed to admit.”

“Ashamed? Is it just me or do you make a habit out of trying to fight people who've done nothing to hurt you?”

Ouch.

That shuts me up, and I back down, feeling like a total asshole. Picking up my glass, I swallow down the remaining contents.

I don't bother to get another glass because I know it's not going to help anyone.

We both remain in silence, and I try not to speak again so as to avoid shoving my feet in my mouth again. But the silence becomes too much for me to deal with at some point, so I apologize.

“I'm sorry,” I say.

He nods and gives me a small smile. “I get it,” he sounds genuine.

But that's the thing, though. I don't think he gets it. I don't think I get everything that's going on here.

“Do you?”

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