Page 37 of Lilah
"Your book?" I question nervously.
"I don't want a damn book," he grounds out, agitated.
He needs a book on how to communicate properly. I can't read minds here.
I look up at him. I wait for him to say something but of course he doesn't.
If he doesn't want a book then what's the point of being here?
Does he enjoy making me feel terrible about myself? I get enough of that everywhere else I go.
This is the only place where I can be free without having to care whether or not anyone is judging me. Mr. Terrip is the closest thing to family and a friend I've got and even though I know he judges me, he is still always there for me.
"Then why are you here?"
"I wanted to see you hungover."
"Well, I'm not," I fumble with the book in my hands.
"I can see that," his deep voice grows a tad deeper. I search my brain for anything else to say which is unusual.
"I'm sorry you had to drive me home last night," I apologize.
"I don't have your sweatshirt with me but I can bring it to you tomorrow," I add.
Or maybe I could keep it considering it smells delicious like you and it's more comfortable than anything else ever.
"Next time drive yourself. That was out of my way," he grumbles, his eyebrows pulling together in a small glare.
"Well, you didn't have to do it. If I knew you were going to act like this then I would've refused to let you drive me home," I turn away from him, finding the book in my hand's correct placement.
"I didn't want to hear your bitchin' about it later," he says from behind and I close my eyes refusing to let his words do anything to me.
"That's all I hear from you," I fire back at him.
With my back facing him, my face morphs into one of a little regret. He may be awfully rude but I'm sure not.
I can't help but feel bad. I don't know what goes on with him at home. Maybe he's been through some things.
Maybe he should take my advice.
I decide on turning around to gauge his reaction to my words. Maybe he's laughing. He definitely won't be laughing but maybe, just maybe, he's not that mad.
I've 'known' this man for weeks, when is he ever not mad atanythingI say?
I turn and come face to chest. I feel like giving up and just leaning my forehead against his chest and falling asleep.
I'm exhausted.
I need a coffee. Then, a nap. Heck, even a spa treatment after my nap.
"Nothing else to say?" he pushes away from me.
"That's all you got?" he repeats the question that I've asked him on a few occasions.
"Grey, stop," I whisper realizing that I never put on my big girl britches today. I think they flew out the window actually.
"Not so tough now, huh?" he leans into me, so close I can see the faint scar on his jaw. His tattooed hand comes up and he tucks a strand of loose hair behind my ear.
