Page 58 of Rival Hearts

She returned his smile, but it looked forced, as though she was gathering enthusiasm from down in her toes. “Looking forward to it.”

“I’ll have to think about what I can come up with to top our first date.” He winked and then continued past us.

Being punched in the kidney would have been better than hearing their exchange. “A date?”

“People do that.” She avoided eye contact. “They don’t just screw each other and walk away, leaving the other person to clean up the mess.”

“Oh.” My gut twisted. “So, you’re screwing him too. Good to know.” I cocked my head. “Probably more information than I needed, but the visual is crystal clear.” I circled the side of my head with my index finger. “I have a great imagination where you’re concerned. And some highlight reels to back that up.”

She shoved me. Hard. Or tried to. The look on her face told me she’d put all her weight behind it. But unlike Trent, she didn’t have much luck in making me move.

I leaned down, so my mouth almost touched her ear. “If you wanted to put your hands on me, I can think of better places for them.”

“You’re gross. You repulse me,” her voice cracked.

“Come on, Maggie. At least say something you believe.”

Meeting my gaze, she hissed, “Ihateyou.”

My stomach clenched at her words, but the tears brimming in her eyes evaporated any desire to fight. She stormed past me and down the stairs of the stage before I could collect myself.

When I turned to follow her, Trent called, “Leave her the fuck alone, Grady.”

But Trent didn’t stop me. Good enough. I wasn’t letting her flee from me, crying.

I’d made her cry. I’d made her fucking cry.

Rushing around the building, I searched the places being used for the concert. As a last resort, I put my ear to the door of the women’s bathroom. If she wasn’t in there, she’d gone home.

Propping it open with my foot, there was a line of stalls, sinks, and a counter in a dark gray. From the furthest stall, I heard a distinct sniff. “Maggie?”

“It’s the women’s bathroom.”

Grabbing the Cleaning in Progress sign from the back of the door, I stuck it on the front and let the door fall shut behind me.

Quickly, I scanned the other stalls for feet. We were alone. “I’m sorry, Maggie May. I was being an asshole, and I’m just… I’m sorry.”

“Go away. Just go away.”

Outside her locked stall, I leaned my shoulder against it. “Come out and talk to me.”

She sniffed, and her voice was thick when she said, “I have nothing to say to you.”

“You hate me, and you’re not going to talk to me?” A cold sweat broke out across my chest. How had we gone from her sleeping in my bed to this much anger when we hadn’t even spoken this week?

She’d gone on a fucking date.

I was in the twilight zone—the only logical explanation. What the hell had I done?

“Hate sums it up.” Her voice was garbled. Was she still crying? The toilet paper holder rumbled, and the sound of her blowing her nose echoed throughout the bathroom.

I almost fell into the stall when the lock snapped back, and she opened the door.

She tapped underneath her eyes with her fingertips as she strolled past me. Looking in the mirror, she pumped soap into her hands. As she washed them, I stood behind her, unsure in the face of her calm indifference.

“Why were you crying?” Our gazes met in the mirror.

“Because you were being an asshole. For some reason, there’s a tiny part of me that thought I might care for half a second. Turns out,” she said with a shrug, “I don’t.”

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