Page 26 of Black Jack (Advantage Play 5)

“I don’t have any guilty pleasures.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just don’t.”

“‘And I don’t believe you,” he calls me out. “Everyone has a guilty pleasure.”

“Guilty pleasures are weaknesses. Even if I did have one, I wouldn’t tell you what it is.”

He pulls back as though he’s been slapped. “Why not?”

“Because you’d find a way to use it against me.”

“I’d find a way to use a burger against you?”

“Not everyone’s guilty pleasures involve calories, Jacky Boy,” I huff. “In fact, I think it rarely involves them unless you have the palate of a toddler.”

His mouth twitches. “Are you calling me a toddler, Bianca?”

“You’re acting like one.”

“I’m the one acting like a toddler?” His tone manages to ride the line between amusement and annoyance like it’s a tightrope and only ruffles my feathers more.

“Yes.”

“All because I asked if you wanted me to pick up a burger for you?”

“Look, I grabbed your car so that I wouldn’t feel like I was babysitting, so if you could stop suffocating me, that’d be great.”

“You’re joking right?” Jack laughs. Again. Only this time, it’s laced with a frustration that leaves me uneasy. He leans closer, getting right up in my face, but I refuse to back down. “Let’s do a quick recap, shall we? I was trying to be nice when I came and asked if I could pick up some dinner for you––”

“Because you felt guilty,” I interrupt.

“Yeah. I felt guilty because I was an ass, and I wanted to make it up to you. So, sue me. But you declined. Fine. Not a big deal. Then I asked what your guilty pleasure is so I could maybe melt a bit of the Ice Queen’s bitchy attitude with some brownies or something, and you twist it into me suffocating you? With what? Kindness?” He scoffs, but I’m still too shocked by the ice queen comment to tackle the rest of his recap.

Digging my teeth into my lower lip, I blink back the sheen that’s collected in my eyes and whisper, “Did you just call me a bitch?”

He runs his hand through his hair again, tugging at the roots with white knuckles before releasing his hold.

“Look, I’m sorry––”

“Nope. Too late,” I seethe, my hurt transforming into fury. I push up onto my tiptoes and get right back in his face. “You wanna talk about being a little bitch, Jack? How about the fact that you just spent time in a freaking prison cell for a crime you weren’t even man enough to commit. And then you needed my brother to come to your rescue because you weren’t smart enough to figure out that your boss is the guy who not only was working with the mafia but also managed to set your sorry ass up for the shit he did in the first place. How’s that for being a little bitch? Huh? And guess who gets to pay for that, Jacky Boy?” My chest heaves. “Me. The girl who’s so far out of your league that she wouldn’t have even noticed you if it weren’t for your connections to my brother.”

Shiiit, there’s the bitchy word vomit I was afraid of spilling out. But I’m not about to apologize for it. He already sees me as weak. I’m not going to confirm his suspicions.

His upper lip curls with disgust as his bitter laugh rings through the air. “You’re out of my league?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Then why did your brother have to step in and find someone to take care of your sorry ass? Oh wait, it’s because you’ve already spread your legs for every fucking guy in the mafia, and none of them wanted you after they’d had a taste.”

I glare at him, then drop my chin to my chest, convinced he’d managed to stab a dagger between my ribs when I wasn’t looking. Unfortunately, I can’t find the physical cause for the pain radiating in my chest. Which means he’s managed to hurt me with his words. Again. Only this time, it’s so much worse. Because it’s true. And that’s a bitter pill I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to swallow.

My lower lip quivers before I shake my head to disperse my self-loathing, then slam the bedroom door with all my strength.

I hate him.

And I’m getting out of this engagement.

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