Page 101 of Bragg's Match

“I’m not trying to manipulate you. I love you. You have my heart, pixie girl.”

“I am not your pixie girl.” I yank away from his hold. “You don’t love me. You love living in my house rent-free. You love having no responsibilities.”

“I have responsibilities. I have a job.”

I snort. “A job? You play computer games for a living.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes but I will not be affected by his hurt. I need to protect myself. I need to be number one in my life for a change.

“And I offered to pay rent.”

“I can’t accept rent from you when you’re not earning much money.”

He scowls. “Why do you assume I don’t earn much money?”

I roll my eyes. “Because…” I trail off when I realize we’re arguing about his financial situation. His financial situation is not the topic I want to discuss.

“Your bank account is not the issue.”

“It sounds as if you have a problem with my finances.”

“Don’t distract me.” I point to the door. “You need to leave.”

“This isn’t fair. I make one mistake and you kick me out? You didn’t even let me explain what happened.”

“Did you forget about the first bed you ruined?”

“I admit I messed up with the bed. I should have never been messing around with fireworks in the house. But I wasn’t messing around with fireworks now. I learned my lesson.”

I point to the kitchen. “I beg to differ.”

“Let me explain.”

I hold up my palm. There’s no reason to explain. It’s plain to see what happened here. And I can’t chance it happening again. I need to stand firm. I can’t risk coming home to firemen in my house again. I just can’t. This house is all I have left of my mom.

“Here.” He grasps my hand and tugs me toward the kitchen. “Let me show you at least.”

I wrest my hand from his grip. “No. You need to leave.”

“Can we please sit down and discuss this like adults?”

“Like adults?” I throw my hands in the air. “That’s the whole problem. You’re not an adult. You’re a child.”

“I am not a child,” he growls.

“Fine.” I give in since I don’t want to have this discussion yet again. “You’re not a child. But you’re too young for me. I thought I could handle the age difference. I can’t. I was wrong.”

I twirl around and march toward our bedroom. No, not our bedroom.Mybedroom.

“I’ll be at the community center all day tomorrow. You can come get your stuff then.”

“Are you serious? I thought I was the child. But you’re the one stomping away like a child because I made one mistake.”

I whirl around. “How dare you say I’m a child?”

“If you’ll only let me explain,” he pleads.

I don’t respond. I’m done talking. All talking does is lead me to question my decision. I can’t question my decision. Brody is not the man I thought he was.

---