Page 53 of Bad Love

I wasn’t at my finest this morning. The pressure of the bet and meeting my grandmother over the weekend is getting to me, but that's not Kendall'sfault.

Still, from the second she walked into the room, she added to my problems instead of alleviatingthem.

She looked refreshed since last week, wearing a black skirt and cherry-red shoes. Her white top was sleeveless, clinging to her chest and showing off her tonedarms.

I should’ve been glad she looked well rested and put together, but it irritatedme.

I’d planned to get through our business and wrap up the meeting on a personal note—with an apology for acting like an ass about her kid. At least until I noticed the text on herphone.

That made it personal real fuckingfast.

I couldn’t look away. Not with some prick—who I’m guessing didn’t have to pry her phone number out of her colleague—calling her “babe” when she’d made it perfectly clear she doesn’t want me or any otherguy.

Now I’m pissed. It’s one thing if I can’t have her, for her reasons and mine, but I’m not gonna watch her tell me about her childhood, about her kid, about her crazed theories about how stranger fantasies lead to Armageddon—which have me torn between laughing at how damned cute she is and pinning her up against that stupid wall and kissing her until we crush every plant to death—then watch her walk out of here to meet some otherguy.

I refuse to participate in some kind of twisted lust triangle. Monty and his operas can keep thatshit.

That’s why I followed her down thehall.

When I whistle to get her attention, she stops and spins, spitting fury from her eyes. "You did not whistle atme."

She continues down the hall before disappearing through adoor.

I follow her into the bathroom. Because we're notdone.

She's filling the bottle from the tap, her eyes widening on mine in the mirror over the sink. "Hunter! What areyou—"

"Tell me who heis.”

My low voice echoes off the tile in the space that’s big enough for a single stall plus avanity.

“It’s none of yourbusiness.”

“You really want some guy calling you ‘babe’ and blowing up your phone at work? I didn’t think you were intothat.”

Kendall’s eyes flash in the mirror. “I’m not. That’s why I divorcedhim.”

It takes a minute for me to catch up, the justified rage in my brain dialing down a fewnotches.

“Blake is my ex-husband. Rory’s father.” The churning in my gut intensifies instead of resolving. “We haven’t talked in a long time. But he moved back to myhometown.”

I reach for her arm, turning her to face me because I can't stand the mirror betweenus.

“Is he messing with you,Peach?”

I’ve gone from jealous to protective in three seconds flat, and it’s hard to keep up. From her expression, she’s finding it hard too. “No. Why is it so damned hard for guys to be nice andeasy?”

I should comfort her, but what comes out when she lifts that frustrated face to mine is, "A woman who can talk about sex toys like a boss isn't looking for nice andeasy."

Kendall's pulse hammers in her throat, her chin lifting in defiance. "Perfect. Another man who thinks he knows what's best forme.”

But her tone’s not as edgy as it was when she was murder-spraying those plants in the conference room. It drops in a way that drags down my spine, deliberate or not, when she says, “Go on, then. Tell me what I'm looking for, LoganHunter."

My brain'sslow.

My body'snot.

It recognizes the undercurrent in her voice. The smart-ass inflection that drags down my spine, telling me she wants to fight orfuck.

---