A Wifey for the Bad Boy(35)
“Because I don’t,” he growled, narrowing his gaze. “Drop it now, or leave. I can do my own damn shopping without you nitpicking every little thing I say or don’t say.”
Melinda nearly flinched. There was sincere rage beneath his tone, and she wasn’t sure how to respond to it. A part of her wanted to turn this into a real fight—to find out why he was so secretive with her. But deep down, she knew she wouldn’t get any answers from him unless he truly wanted to share them with.
They continued their shopping in silence—with the exception of the irritated grunts Andrew made every so often. The tension between them clawed into Melinda’s psyche, but shy of screaming at the man, she didn’t know how to calm her own nerves.
Once they returned to his building, she stormed out of his car and headed for her own apartment. There, she was finally free of Andrew’s eyes and rude noises, and she could breathe with ease.
She ended up punching several pillows and screaming into them later on, but that is neither here nor there.
That night, Melinda sat on her couch. Her elbows resting on her knees, she stared at her blank television as her mind struggled with its thoughts.
She didn’t want to break up with Andrew, but how could she be with someone who was so distant? She had made a horrid mistake with Travis, and she didn’t want to make the same one with Andrew.
Melinda clenched her teeth, self-loathing smacking her. Andrew was nothing like Travis.
Sighing, she relaxed and shook herself from her ponderings. She had spent hours dealing with her emotions and thoughts, and she was no more certain about herself and Andrew than she had been in the market. She gave herself permission to give up, and a soothing sensation of sleepiness came over her.
She stood up and headed for her bed when someone knocked on the front door. Frowning knowingly, Melinda went up the stairs and opened the door.
Andrew stood there, embarrassment written all over his face.
“Yes?” Melinda said, cocking an eyebrow.
He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “Um…I made dinner?”
“…Is that a question or a statement?”
He gave her a sour, exasperated look. “I’m sorry, okay? Would you please have dinner with me?”
Melinda’s eyebrows shot up. All of the turmoil inside her eased away, affection taking its place. “You’re apologizing?”
He nodded. “I made stew—thought it was a good idea and all.”
She did coo at him then and brought her hands to her pounding heart. “You sweetheart! And here I thought you were just going to act like a brute forever.” She moved forward—briefly noticing the indignant glare he was giving her—and kissed him. She felt him relax against her, and she kissed him a little harder. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt him wrap his arms around her waist. It was so warm, so nice.
At dinner, Melinda was going to let the incident at the market go. As stubborn as she could be sometimes, she knew when not to push an issue. But, as she was slurping up the remnants of her soup, Andrew surprised her.
“Look,” he said, staring into his empty bowl while he tapped his table. He took a deep breath, his shoulder tensed. “I’m not good at…sharing. At least, not about my family, my childhood—none of that. If that’s a deal breaker for you, tell me now. I don’t want to make things any messier than they have to be.”
So startled, Melinda nearly inhaled some of her stew. She lowered her bowl and wiped up a bit of food off her chin and lower lip. She stared at Andrew for a long moment, observing the nervous way he fiddled with the fibers of the table. His expression seemed deflated—tired and anxious all at once.
She thought about it for a moment. “Are you a murderer?”
Andrew reeled back, worry creasing his brow. “What? No.”
“Are you a rapist?”
“No!”
“Woman-beater?”
“No!”
Melinda pouted out her lips and nodded, satisfied. “Then you know what? I think we can make this work. Whatever this is.”
When he smiled back at her, his eyes flooding with warmth and relief, she realized that it truly was that simple. It only had to be as complicated as they made it, and it seemed that neither one of them wanted to deal with complications.
Smiling back at him, Melinda reached over and grabbed his hand. “You want to have sex?”
“God, yes.”
Chapter Five
Melinda jolted awake, the sound of loud and rapid knocking thrumming through the air. It was pitch black, but she could feel and smell Andrew beside her, and she immediately remembered that she had spent the night with him at his place. Perhaps one of the tenants had some kind of plumbing emergency that needed handling.