Page 47 of Personal Foul

“What about …”

His eyes meet mine, shuttered and icy, his brows raising as though inviting me to finish the question. When I don’t, he finishes for me. “Are you asking about your secrets? Or about our fake relationship?”

I shift on my feet, uncomfortable with his directness for some reason.

Looking back at his phone, he waves a hand, dismissing me and my concerns together. “Whatever, Charity. I’m not sure why you even think I care.”

His coldness feels like a slap, especially after the way we laughed together night before last.

“ButIcare.” The words come out as little more than a whisper. I feel small and cold. Frozen in place, uncertain what to do.

He sighs without looking at me. “So?”

For some reason that response brings my anger back full force, the heat of it thawing me, making me expand again and take up space. “So?” I repeat, louder. “So? So this is mylife. You’re what—bored? This doesn’t hold the excitement for you it once did? Is that it? Or are you just mad at me for not fucking you the other night?”

Shooting to his feet, he stalks closer to me. “Maybe Iamtired of this.” He practically spits out every word, each one flying like a bullet, piercing me. My own anger doing nothing to protect me.

He’s tired of me. That’s what I hear, anyway. And why should that upset me? It’s not just the worry that he’ll spill my secrets to anyone and everyone—or worse, seek out Isabelle and tell her directly—which is bad enough. But saying he’s tired of this? Tired of me?

That hurts in a different way. A way it shouldn’t at all.

What do I care if he doesn’t like me? It’s not like I like him, after all.

He stops in front of me, drawing up to his full height, looking down his nose at me and shaking his head.

So condescending. Just like him and his friends always were.

There’s absolutely no reason I should care about his opinion of me.

Ihatehim.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dylan

Tension shivers through Charity’s body. She’s coiled tight, ready to spring, to launch herself at me like a feral cat in an alley fight.

I hate that I’m the cause of this. That I’ve mishandled everything again, letting my frustration and anger at her low opinion of me take over and reverting to the most douchey version of myself. Acting cold and distant and like I don’t care about her at all, which isn’t true.

I care. I care way too much. More than I have any right to.

God, I’m such an idiot.

I’ve gone from one fuckup to another with Charity. All I’ve done is fuck shit up from start to finish, from blackmailing her and making her wear that stupid uniform to deciding to end our arrangement. I’ve handled everything wrong every step of the way.

I thought she’d behappyto discover she doesn’t have to wear the uniform. That I didn’t leave a mess for her. I planned on explaining everything to her when she got here, but she didn’t follow me to the living room—which, again, is my fault because I didn’t tell her to—and she went into the bathroom before I could stop her. I’d thought maybe we could hang out for a bit to discuss how to move forward.

Figure out how to be friends.

Friends.

That was the ridiculous idea I came up with to solve this whole mess. The mess I created because I let my impulses run away with me. Something about her calls to me. I like riling her up, but I like when she’s relaxed and joking with me even more. I’d hoped we could find a way to a place where that was possible.

I know I can’t really date her, no matter how deep my attraction for her runs. It would be a terrible idea. She can’t stand anything about my life or my family or where I come from. She wants a normal, boring existence with a basic house and a basic job and a two-week road trip vacation to somewhere that’s far enough away for a change but not so far you have to give up half your time off to get there.

Whereas I’m destined to be a named partner in my family’s law firm, and even if I don’t want to go into politics myself, it’ll always be part of my family’s life.

Dad’s never going to stop being a politician, and he has big ideas about me following in his footsteps so we can be West Coast Kennedys or something. A family dynasty where he gets to be the president, and I’m a congressman at least.

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