Page 12 of Edge of Ruin
His eyebrow tilted up. “What do you mean?”
I shoved my hair back. “I mean, how you seem to be judging me for things you know nothing about. I mean, how uncomfortable you seem to be with me.”
“Is that all?”
I waved my fork. “What else would I be talking about?”
“I thought you might be talking about the fact that I’m attracted to you,” he said. “I figured you might have noticed. It’s kind of hard to miss.”
My fork clattered loudly down onto my plate. “Ah … actually …”
“But since you brought it up,” he continued, “I might as well just be honest. You’re right. I am uncomfortable, for two reasons. The fact that I’m attracted to you is one of those reasons. And the other reason—and I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings—is that you are not the type of woman I want to be attracted to. That puts me in a bad place.”
My jaw dropped. “My type?” I repeated. “What type is that? Are you one of those meatheads who think that girls with tattoos are automatically promiscuous?”
He waved that away. “No, that’s not the issue. I’m talking about living in a van, moving around all the time, getting bored easily, leaving things half done. I don’t want to get involved with someone who’s just passing through. It’s a waste of time.”
Anger burned in my stomach. “Hold on. Did I invite you to get sexually involved with me without me noticing it? Or did you just assume that my type is sexually available to everyone?”
Jack took a slow, swallow of beer, stalling. “No. You didn’t. And I don’t.”
“So, you want to nail me, but you think I’m scum, and you don’t want me around lowering your property value.”
He frowned. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say ‘scum.’”
“I call it how I feel it,” I retorted. “You know what? I bet you just want me to get so pissed off, I just pack up and leave, right? And simplify your life. Is that the plan?”
He forked up a bite of his steak fajita. “That would be my plan, if it weren’t for this danger issue,” he said, reluctantly. “It does sound like you’ve got one hell of a security problem. But I don’t?—”
“Let me make a revolutionary suggestion,” I announced. “Get this, Kendrick. I know this idea might shock you to your toes, but how about if we just don’t have sex?”
He covered his mouth with his napkin to smother a laugh, his eyes darting around the restaurant. “Uh?—”
“It’s the perfect solution,” I went on. “Amazing in its simplicity. You don’t have to fuck me, if it would be so upsetting to you. Aren’t you relieved? Isn’t that just an incredible load off your mind? Just ignore me, okay? It’ll be easy. I’ll just stay the hell out of your way and do my own thing.”
He looked alarmed. “And what exactly is your thing?”
I shrugged. “Living my life. Playing with my dog. Making my art. Duncan mentioned that you have a studio in the barn, but I’ll understand if you don’t want me to use the space. The apartment will do nicely for now.”
Jack rose, bumping the table and knocking over the empty beer bottle. A fork fell to the floor. The restaurant went silent. A waitress froze in position, holding her trays of food. Jack cursed softly. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Fine.” I got up and began digging for my wallet.
“I’ve got the check,” he said.
I swept past him, elbowing him out of my way at the cash register. “I’d rather die than let you pay for my meal,” I hissed.
I sat as far from him as possible in the truck. After he pulled into the driveway, I climbed out without a word, slammed the door, and reached for my groceries.
He tried to take the bags from me. I jerked them away.
He yanked them right back. “Let me.”
Oh, to hell with it. I followed the crunch of his boots on the gravel through the darkness and followed him up the stairs, still fuming.
He opened my door with his own key, flipped on the lights, and set my shopping bags on the kitchen counter. We gazed at each other as Edna leaped and danced and wagged her enthusiastic greeting.
“Good night,” I said to him, pointedly.
