Page 27 of Glass Jawed
I expect a playful jab. A blush. Maybe a smile.
What I get is a cold, amused snort.
She lifts her eyes, tilts her head slightly, and gives me a look that lands somewhere between amusement and pity.
“Oh wow,” she murmurs.
I blink.
She sips her drink like she’s at a board meeting, then sets the glass down with a soft clink. “Choose one, Lucian. You can either be a charming flirt or a man living in the past.”
My smirk falters, just a fraction.
“I mean,” she continues, gaze steady, “saying that I usually pursue men is essentially rewriting that night as thoughIchased Tim. Is that what you still think?”
My mouth parts with shock and mild respect. I didn’t even mean what she’s clearly inferring from my statement. But... Jesus, why do I like her calling me out like that?
“I was joking,” I say softly. “You’re taking it out of context.”
She narrows her eyes—as if she trying to figure out whether I was indeed joking.
But then the way she looks at me—like she’s finally,finallyfigured out the shape of me—makes something gnaw at the edge of my stomach. I can’t blow this so soon.
“Rohi, that was meflirtingwith you,” I press.
“Okay...” she nods thoughtfully. “But if you’re going to flirt, try not to undercut my dignity while you’re at it. You’re fine on texts but then in person you just... I don’t know. You confuse me.”
Then she picks on her eggplant parmesan. Like I didn’t just accidentally insult her and get called out with surgical precision.
I watch her for a second, unsure what to say.
What can I say?
“I promise you I didn’t mean it like that,” I say truthfully. Because that’s what it is. My truth. I absolutely didnotmean what she thinks I did.
She doesn’t even look up. Just shrugs.
And that irritates the fuck out of me. I don’t even have the energy to defend myself. Because she’s partially right. I need to pick a lane. My inner conflict might be unknowingly surfacing as condescension.
And for once, I don’t think I’m holding the reins here.
I signal the waitress for a drink refill, ignoring the bitter taste rising in my throat.
“I feel like I lost you before I even had you,” I mumble but it comes out as a sad declaration.
She looks up then, her gaze scrutinizing my face as if she could peel back to my ugly layers.
Her sigh is heavy, almost defeated and I don’t think I’m feeling any different.
??????
“Thank you for the dinner but...” she reaches for the door handle of my car, her voice quiet, controlled. “I don’t think it’s wise for us to hang out again.”
The words land like a punch to my sternum.
No!I want to scream. But the word dies in my throat.
I move fast, pressing the lock button. A soft click. Not forceful. Just firm. She could still open it and leave but this is a signal that this conversation isn’t over.
