Page 41 of Full House

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nate’s casual appearance wouldn’t fool anyone and especially not her. She could feel his anger pulsing across the distance between them. See it in the fiery depths of his eyes, turning them nearly black. Hear it in the forceful tone of his voice, a few octaves deeper and louder than normal.

Seeing him like that pushed all her buttons. Her depression of the last couple of days morphed into her own blazing anger. How dare he! Her whole body tensed, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her breathing became sporadic as she spat, “I could ask you the same thing.”

He had the nerve to raise a brow, his tone condescending when he replied, “You know where I’ve been.”

“And my unanswered texts?”

“You know that, too.” He stood from the chair all power and grace. His long strides ate the distance between them in seconds. “But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.” His last word was punctuated with his full stop before her, his hands reaching out to clasp her upper arms, pulling her into his chest.

She wouldn’t let him get the upper hand. Whatever his issue, he was to blame first. Her hands connected with his hips, pushing, but of course, he didn’t budge. “The only thing I know is the last text I got from you was at six o’clock Thursday morning.”

“I left you a message.”

“Well, I didn’t get a message.”

“Where have you been?” his tone had gentled—slightly—but his eyes were still blazing, and his jaw was locked tight.

No. She would get her information first before she eased his mind. “Are we over?”

She surprised him, she could tell by the way his hands loosened on her arms and the furrow that formed between his brows. The pressure she still applied to his hips was actually effective and moved him back a step. “What?”

“I asked if we’re over. Done. Through. Kaput.”

His grip on her tightened again, but he didn’t pull her forward. It felt more like a reflex. “Why the fuck would you even ask that?”

She yanked from his hold, storming her way into the kitchen, and yanking open the fridge to grab a bottle of water. Slamming the refrigerator door shut, she turned to find him looming in the kitchen doorway.

“I asked you a question.” His hands were gripping either side of the door jamb as he leaned slightly forward, seething.

She ignored his expression, too angry herself to take heed. “I heard. I’m just trying to figure out where to start.” Her grip on the water bottle was so tight, water spewed out the top and over her hand when she twisted off the lid. She didn’t care, continuing to take a long swig.

“Start by telling me where the fuck you’ve been.”

Jeez, that again? He was like a broken record. She turned her back to him, putting the bottle down on the counter and picking up a tea towel to dry her hand. “Should I start with your missing phones calls? Or maybe the party and the pretty blonde that was hanging all over you and whom you left your fancy party with?”

She knew she sounded flippant and sarcastic, but it was the only way to combat the sudden tears that simmered too close to the surface for her liking. The last thing she wanted was for him to see how upset she was—how much pain she was in. The total destruction this conversation was having on her.

She felt him approach before she saw his hand land on the counter beside her own. “We both need to calm down and talk this over rationally.”

She noticed his words weren’t an instant denial, and her head sagged, feeling suddenly too heavy to be supported by her neck. She lost the battle with her tears, drops falling down her cheeks to end with a splash to the back of her hand and the countertop.

“Hey, why are you crying?” His tone was now gentle and when he took her by the chin to force her head up to look at him, she saw all anger gone from his gaze, replaced with concern.

“You didn’t deny it.”

“What?”

“The pretty blonde,” she stressed. “You didn’t deny leaving with her.”

“Where is this coming from? Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t know, should I? And it hasn’t slipped my notice that you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Yes, you should. I’m insulted you’re doubting me.”

He did look disgusted. Not angry but definitely pissed.

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