She stiffens, but doesn’t answer. Just nurses her water, ignoring me in a way that I can’t ignore. Every minute she spends not looking at me is a minute I want to grab her chin and force her to look in my eyes. Quiet Angie is new. I don’t know her, and I don’t like her. Give me ball-busting Angie any day.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she opens her mouth. “I want...” Dragging it out. No idea if she’s still thinking or just baiting me. “I want you to get the fuck over yourself.” There she is. The bitch is back. Good.
“Me? That’s fucking rich. You can drop the act now, babe. You won.” I reach for the water then change my mind, refusing to take anything from her. Instead, I do what I do best. Lash out again. “Will you name him after me, at least?”
She keeps her voice even, but her fists tighten until her knuckles turn white. When she looks at me, cold fury stabs at me from her narrowed eyes. “I don’t know what people have done to you. Maybe they’ve been horrible. Maybe you have every right to be suspicious, but maybe you’re just so freaking full of yourself that you can’t see past your own damn nose.”
“Angie—”
She cuts me off. “Shut up. I’m not done.” It’s not just fury. There’s a sadness in her eyes as well. “But when you blow up and blame me for a stupid mistake—which for the record is as much yours as it is mine—like I’m out to get you, that doesn’t make you a freaking victim. It just makes you petty and small.”
“You don’t fucking know me.” I hiss it out through clenched teeth, hating how I sound like a whiny kid. The pain inside still wants to get out, and impulse control’s never been my strong suit. “You have no idea what my life’s been like. Don’t fucking judge me.”
Sipping her water, she takes her sweet time. Is she doing it on purpose to aggravate me? She doesn’t even look at me when she speaks. “I feel sorry for you.”
“Me? Well, don’t. I don’t need your fucking pity.”
“You spend so much time hiding from attachment that you don’t recognize it when it slaps you in the face. No wonder you only do one-night-stands. You’re too much of a fucking chicken.” She slams her empty glass on the counter and stands. Turning towards the door, she doesn’t look at me when she speaks with a tight voice. “You know, for one night I thought I’d found the real you. The little part inside that’s not an asshole. Guess the joke’s on me. Turns out that little part’s an asshole too.”
And with that, she strides right out, leaving me with my empty glass of scotch and an untouched glass of water. She’s almost outside when I go after her, except the ship picks that moment to roll again, and I’m too stiff and tipsy to compensate. I stumble against the counter and grab on to stay upright.
Fuck.
By the time I’m moving, she’s gone and the other patrons are pointedly looking away.
Fuck.
I slam my fist in the counter, getting a small amount of pleasure out of watching the others jump. Then I grab the glass of water she gave me and chug it all down, to the last drop. Even that gets me thinking of last night. Of sweat and sweet promises, all in the heat of the moment. Why can’t I hate her? I don’t want this heavy feeling in my chest. Maybe she doesn’t want to be stuck with me, but I sure as hell seem to be stuck with her.
Fuck.
Throwing the glass on the floor, I smile thinly at the loud crash as it shatters into a starburst of tiny shards. I get up again, my shoes crunching as I walk over the floor, my gaze straight forward, and this time I don’t stumble. But I don’t meet anyone’s gaze on the way out either.
Chapter 26: Angie
When I get back to the room, the skies are dark and there’s a slight patter of rain on the windows. Nothing big, but enough that I won’t be doing my moping out on the balcony. The fan’s blowing too much cool air now that the sun isn’t baking our room through the windows, so I shut it off. The only noise left is the dull hum of the engines.
The whole room reminds me of Gavin, but where else would I go? I can’t even take a nap without thinking about what happened in the bed. What a cruel twist of fate that the person who knows my body so well, doesn’t seem to know me at all. We fit so perfectly together, and now everything’s a mess.
I hate that he’s an asshole, and I hate how even now I’d forgive him if it meant feeling like we did last night again. Briefly, I consider taking one of the chairs and jamming it up against the door knob. If he can’t get in, I can’t be tempted to forgive him, but I don’t. It’s his room too, and even if he’s an asshole, I don’t have to be. I just want to.