Page 8 of Love Sick

“Who was I meant to have screwed?” I stare at his peace offering without taking it.

He stops short, three steps away. “What?”

“What bigwig was I meant to have screwed to get this spot?”

He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling the strands that lay over his forehead. “I don’t know. That doesn’t matter—”

“It does matter, actually. Funny that you didn’t judge the fictional man in this scenario. Only the woman.”

His dark eyes go wide. Incredulous. “That’s not—how would you know who and what I was judging?”

“Because you walked away from me mid-sentence. Felt pretty judgy.”

“That isn’t what I—that’s not—ugh.” He drags a hand over his face.

Yeah. This guy already played his cards, and I have the winning hand. “Men like you are the reason women can never get ahead.”

He cocks his head, voice hardened. “Men like me?”

“Misogynists. Men who accuse women of things they didn’t do. Men who assume because I’m pretty and wearing a red dress and have a porn star’s name that I’d spread my legs for anyone, especially if it came with benefits. You just called me a whore.”

“Did those words leave my mouth? I saidnothingto you. I don’t want to be involved in scandals, so I excused myself. I’m sorry that hurt your feel—”

“They say there are two types of men who become gynecologists, Julian. Men who love women, and men who hate them.”

In the dark, his crooked smile is fiendish. “And you think I’m the latter? Based on a single conversation and a misunderstanding?”

“First impressions don’t take long.”

The laugh that rumbles in his chest is low and angry, and he halves the distance between us. “I could say the same about you. You just threw a temper tantrum in front of a bunch of strangers instead of addressing us like a rational human. You essentially stomped your foot and walked away.”

“I—”

“I’m sorry I considered for a second it might be true. I really am. I was told it was a fact by ourattending, someone I won’t trust in the future, okay?”

My mouth falls open. Myattendingswere saying this about me?

His voice softens. “For what it’s worth, I believe you. You may think I hate women, but I don’t. I don’t even know you, and I hate seeing you cry over something like this.” He takes my wrist and presses the napkin into my hand.

Maybe it’s unfair, but all of my hatred for this situation lands squarely on him. I rip my hand away. “You’re a jerk.”

He lets out a bitter laugh and turns to leave, swiping his cup from the ground. “Nice. Thanks. Okay.”

“And now you’re just going to walk away?”

He spins. “What do you want me to do? How else would you like me to fix it? I didn’t start the rumor. I didn’t spread the rumor. All I did was walk away from you, and no one else bothered to come out here trying to make you feel better.”

“Screw you.”

“Screwyou.” He throws an irritated arm into the air, waving toward my car. “Weren’t you leaving?”

I shoot him the deadliest glare I can manage. “You stopped me.”

“Well, nothing’s stopping you now.”

I growl and stomp over to my Camry, the automatic door unlocking at my touch. “Better get out of the road. I’d hate for you to get run over.”

Julian

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