“I’ll make it easy for you. Let’s not speak to each other for the week, that way we can’t argue.” I go back to my phone.
“You’re too hard to ignore,” he says quietly.
I let out a huff. “Fine. Say what you need to say so I can get back to work.” I don’t mean to be a bitch but I am. I’m exhausted. Frustrated. Irritated. Confused. Wary. All the things.
“I want to talk about our past,” he states.
My stomach turns and flips flops. “No,” I say, shutting that down quickly.
He raises a brow at me. “There’s still a lot of animosity between us and I guess …” he continues rubbing his neck, those stupid thick biceps tensing as he does. “I guess I’m trying to sort out my shit. My life has blown up and I feel like it’s out of control, and well … I’d like us to be friends again, Is. I miss you. Miss your friendship, and I could really use a friend right now,” he confesses.
He can’t just say nice things and think that absolves him of everything he did to me.
“Why?”
My question stuns him for a moment. “Because of Harper and Felix,” he says safely. “And because it’s been fifteen years, I want bygones to be bygones.”
“Of course you would. You want a clean conscious.”
“No. It’s not that at all. I’m fighting for everything right now, and I don’t know how long I’m going to have to fight. I don’t need another person to fight me in my life, Issy,” he explains, looking broken.
Well, don’t I feel like the wicked witch? Just because his life has blown up, it doesn’t mean I have to like him or forgive him for anything.
“I’ll make sure to stay out of your way so that I don’t add any more stress to your life,” I tell him before looking back down at my phone.
“Are you serious?” he asks, sitting forward in his seat.
“Yes, it’s one week. The house is big enough that we shouldn’t run into each other,” I answer before looking back at my phone.
Next thing I know, he snatches my phone out of my hand and holds it above his head.
“You fucking asshole, give that back to me,” I yell.
“No,” he says stubbornly.
No? Is he serious right now? I jump up out of my seat and charge toward him, trying to get to my phone, which is stupid because the man’s entire job is to run into other men. I’m not about to topple this man mountain over, except I do, catching him off-guard because he’s had one too many whiskies, as he loses his footing, and I land on top of him in the aisle of the plane.
“Ouch,” he groans, holding the phone above his head while I am splayed out over him, hating how much my body likes being pressed against his. I can feel every ripple of muscle, every hard plane of his body against mine.
No. Stop it. Nothing about this man should make me tingle.
“Stop it,” he shouts.
“Give me my phone back or I’m kneeing you in the balls,” I yell as I try to grab the phone from him.
“Not until you talk to me. I’m not going to let this fester for another fifteen years,” he says.
“I don’t care what you want.” I try to snatch the phone.
The flight attendant walks out and sees us rolling around on the floor and turns right back around. Traitor. No tip for her.
“We are going to be in each other’s lives, or are you going to ignore me every single time we are at a function with Felix and Harper? Because those two are getting married. Are you going to ignore me at work? When I come in and see Marcus? What happens if I get a contract with The Mavericks? Are you going to ignore me when I’m in the city?”
“New York is a big place.” I grunt as I try to grab my phone.
“Keep rubbing yourself on me like that and you’re not going to like what pops up.” He grins.
“Ew. You pig.” I roll off him and get up. “I don’t want your dick anywhere near me.” Pierre smirks, and I go back to my seat, irritation dripping off me. It’s just one week. Seven days. Eighty hours. I mean, if I have to go to work on the weekend to avoidbeing near him, I will. He spins my phone on his finger, taunting me. I call over the flight attendant who finally shows her face again, and ask for something strong like tequila to put up with this idiot for the next couple of hours.