Play With Me, Baby(22)
“I never said she wasn’t, just that you’d better fix what you’ve broken.”
“I fucking love her. Of course I’m going to fix this.”
“I’ve had enough of the male pissing contest you two have going on.” I glared at both men. “Weston, there’s no need for you to grab a shovel because I’m perfectly capable of kicking Rhys’s ass if I need to.”
“Plus she has me to help bury his body if it comes down to that,” Aspen piped in.
“And you”—I wagged my finger at Rhys—“If you want any chance of fixing this, we need to go. Now.”
“Good luck,” Weston chuckled.
“I think I’m going to need it,” Rhys muttered as we walked out the door.
I marched to the car and flung the door open, not waiting for him to get it for me like he always did, and flinched when he shut it hard after I’d gotten in.
He turned to me when he climbed into the driver’s side. “Macy—”
“Just drive.” My voice broke and a tear slid down my cheek.
“Shit, angel,” Rhys hissed.
“No,” I ground out. “I want to have this talk at your place.”
“At our place. Our home,” he corrected.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “Our home.”
As he started up the engine and pulled away from the curb, I turned towards the window and stared out, watching another tear trail down my cheek. It hurt, thinking about how I’d come to view his house as my home. Depending on how our conversation went, I might not feel the same way about his house by the end of the night. The pain was almost overwhelming as I sat there, silently crying the whole drive.
When he pulled into the driveway, I didn’t even wait for him to cut the engine off before I ripped off my seatbelt and flung my door open. I heard his footsteps behind me as I raced into the house, near desperate for the privacy and comfort the house offered.
“Why did you do it?” I cried out as soon as the door shut behind us.
“Bedroom,” he growled, stripping of his clothes as he walked away from me.
“What the hell?” I grumbled, following after him.
“You wanted to have this conversation in our home, and I let you have that—stuck listening to you crying without being able to do anything about it.”
Shit, so much for thinking I was doing it silently.
“You got what you wanted. We’re going to talk about this at home, in our fucking bed.”
“But—”
“Don’t,” he hissed. “I get that I fucked up and need to explain to you what happened with Kassidy and Harbor House. But you’re mine, and this shit isn’t going to change that. Nothing ever will.”
There was vulnerability and pain in his voice, almost as much as I was feeling. It made me pause, reminded me what was at stake. I was willing to bend, but only a little. Toeing off my shoes, I sat on the edge of the mattress. “Fine. I’m on the bed. But I’m not getting naked.” Because if I did, I knew exactly how this conversation would go—and there wouldn’t be a whole lot of words involved.
“I can live with that. For now.”
“Then answer my question,” I demanded.
He plopped down next to me, sighing heavily. “Because I fucking hate the idea of you working at Dirty Players. Of douchebags thinking you’re fair game because of it when you’re mine. Of not being there to protect you while you’re working.”
“I know you hate it, but the job there is only temporary until I get a—”
“Publishing deal,” he finished for me.
“One that I earned, though.” My voice cracked in the middle. I’d been so proud of myself when I opened that email, and it was devastating to know I hadn’t earned that offer because of my talent.
“You did,” he vowed. “Kassidy’s my friend, but she would never have pushed for the deal they offered you unless she loved your book as much as I did.”
“You really loved it?” Gah! I sounded so insecure, but when it came to my writing that was exactly what I was in some ways.
“Yes, angel. So did Harbor House.” He moved away from me, grabbed his pants off the floor and pulled his phone out of the pocket. “And I can prove it to you.”
He jabbed his finger at the screen and the sound of it ringing on the other end filled the air.
“Hey, Peanut Buttercup! Did your girl tell you the news?”
“Peanut Buttercup?” I mouthed at him.
He grimaced and shook his head. If it had been under any other circumstances, I would have joked about his friend’s play on his name. But we had serious stuff to work out. There was definitely a story there, but it was one for another day when we didn’t have serious stuff to work out.