Page 37 of When love and Hate Collide

“So, Dean Reyes would rather spend his night tormenting me than between the legs of some bimbo he spent the evening eye fucking?” She scoffs, “I can’t decide if I should feel flattered or burdened.”

I’m really starting to regret my idiotic decision to get involved. This is the price I pay for trying to be a good guy. I should have left her with David, maybe then she would have learned a valuable lesson of what a true bastard is capable of. "How about you mull over it in the car while I take you home, preferably in silence.”

“I’m not getting in a car with you.” She mumbles looking around as though in search of something. “I’ll catch a cab.” She adds with a huff. “If I can just find my phone.”

“Looking for this?” I hold up her absurdly small bag and she lifts her eyes to look at it and blinks. When she reaches out for it, I pull it back and she scowls.

“Give it to me.” She reaches again and I hold it further out of her reach. “Dean…”

“Take it and I’ll let you jump in a cab.” I offer with a smirk, and she lunges forward to grab the bag, but I draw it out of her reach. It’s not till I look down that I notice how close her face is to mine.

Jeyla’s eyes veer from her bag and lock with mine. I swallow thickly, unable to look away I hold her gaze. My jaw starts to ache dully when I press my molars together to suppress the ridiculous urge to close that damn gap between our lips and kiss her until she’s dizzied with the taste of me.

Don’t ask me how, but I somehow find the strength within myself to draw away from her. Cussing myself out inwardly, I shake my head and stand up. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”

I don’t bother waiting for an answer, I take a hold of her upper arms and lift her to her feet. Compared to her state before, she appears to be a little more stable on her feet.

While we walk the short distance to my car I observe her closely, readying myself to catch her in case she falls.

Shit. Listen to me. I’m readying myself to catch Jeyla Jenkins. Me? Who wouldn’t be caught dead in her presence. Fucking balls, kill me now.

* * *

The music playing softly in the background during the drive drowns out the silence that stretches out between us. There’s a dull ache in my temples, likely from having the same questions circling in my mind. Do we talk about what happened between us or is it best we squash those unanswered questions I know we’re both burning to ask and try to move on?

The smart and mature option would be to talk but knowing us we’ll only wind up in a screaming match like we always do.

I keep my eyes fixed to the road, a grim look on my face. Well, I attempt to at least, but my eyes defiantly veer in her direction every now and then just to make sure she’s alive and not passed out on me. Jeyla stares out of the passenger side window, her hands resting in her lap while she toys with the ring on her thumb.

She’s more alert now than she was half hour ago. Jeyla rolls down the window, her eyes closed, her chest rises and falls with every breath she draws in and exhales. The wind gently blows her long brown hair back and with it the smell of her shampoo and sweet tones of her perfume. I gnaw on my lower lip, desperately trying to ignore the way my body reacts to it and focus on something… anything else. I wonder if she’s feeling nauseous. Last thing I need is her projectile vomiting all over my car.

“Are you going to be sick? Do you need me to pull over?” I ask, my eyes darting between her and the road.

“No, I’m fine,” she replies testily. “You can relax, I’m not going to throw up in your precious car.” My grip on the steering wheel tightens and my agitation peaks another notch.

Fuck me, she’s maddening. I’ve always said it and I’m convinced that God created and plonked this petulant shrew into my life just to punish me.

“I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more exasperating when you’re drunk.” I mutter bitterly and from the corner of my eye I notice her head snap to my direction. “A little gratitude would be nice.”

“Gratitude?” She iterates indignantly, “I don’t remember asking you to help me, Dean?”

I glance at her briefly, my brows knitting tight. “Would you prefer I left you with David Pollard in your state? Because I assure you, JJ, nothing good would have come from that scenario.” I express grimly and turn my gaze back to the road again.

“Sorry, have I missed something here? Since when, haveyougiven a shit about my wellbeing? The last time you and I saw one another you looked me dead in the eyes and very clearly expressed your displeasure at my very existence, remember? ‘Your mother should have done us all a favour and swallowed you.’ Those were your words.”

My stomach twists painfully, the same way it did four years ago when I maliciously uttered those words to her and saw the wounded look in her eyes. I also recall very vividly the slap that followed.

We’ve done and said many things to one another in the midst of a heated argument, but that moment in particular sits high on the top of the list of things I regret to this day.

I just don’t know what it is, she rubs me the wrong way and disables the filter between my brain and my mouth whenever I’m around her. She brings out the callous bastard in me and it seems I bring out the vindictive bitch in her as you can tell by her terse demeanour. Looking at us, you wouldn’t think we were the same two people that spent the afternoon in the backseat of my car earlier exchanging bodily fluids.

“Still holding a grudge about that? It was four years ago, how about you get over it.”

Jeyla glowers at me, “How about you get over yourself and apologise?”

It’s my turn to scowl at her, “Apologise?” I sputter in disbelief, “How about you apologise for waxing off my eyebrows while I was sleeping?”

Jeyla snorts and turns to look out the window again, crossing her arms over her chest. “Dream on.”

---