Page 42 of IOU

“Warm and yummy,” he repeats but in a way that makes me think he’s thinking of something else or mocking me.

“Clearly, I’m still perfecting the recipe,” I say, interrupting his lazy smirk.

“Clearly.”

Now I’m sure he’s mocking me.

“I’m going to learn how to cook when I get my own place. There’s so much I didn’t do when I was with Tucker.”

He stirs his water with the straw, only glancing up at me briefly. “Like what?”

I pause, thinking hard about all the crazy things floating around in my head the past couple of days. “Like—”

Our waitress places the plain cheese pizza in the center of the table, breaking our connection.

“I thought you didn’t want cheese.”

He pulls off a slice and slaps it on my plate. “I never said that.”

“You asked what kind of person I am for wanting plain cheese,” I remind him.

He puts two slices on his plate. “And? Where did you hear that I wouldn’t or couldn’t eat plain cheese?”

He’s freaking infuriating!

“Fine. You win,” I say, taking a bite of the cheesiest, most delicious pizza I’ve ever tasted. “Oh, wow. This is really good.” I moan with each bite. “You’re going to need to carry me out of here. I plan on eating way more than this one piece.”

He snorts. “That’s why we ordered the whole pie.”

“I’m just saying,” I continue, slapping another piece of pizza on my plate. “I’m not one of those girls who won’t eat in front of a man. I honestly don’t care what men think of me anymore.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that last part since I’m not being honest. The fact is, I do care what he thinks of me—sometimes. I wish I didn’t, though. I wish I could give zero fucks and not care what anyone thought, but I do.

I shrug when he only stares at me like I’m a mystery or weird. “Anyway, that’s what I want to work on. Me. Who I am and what I enjoy. I don’t know where the old Ainsley went, but I’m going to set out to find her. This time, I’m doing me.”

Rumor has it he did her in a kiddie pool.

Iasked her for one thing.

One fucking thing!

“You have nine minutes! I have no qualms about throwing your ass out naked.”

And she can’t bother obeying my one rule. Okay, so it isn’t one rule, but it’s the main rule.

She can’t be here for Wednesday night’s poker game.

“Eight minutes!”

It might be easier to explain why I broke the bathroom door down than it would be to keep fucking counting.

I rub the ache behind my ribs, my heart rate increasing with the dwindling timeline.

One meal.

One mistake.

Showing her I cared that she didn’t starve was the worst thing I could have done. It didn’t matter that I pushed an IOU across the table last night and barked out orders for her to remain scarce tonight. She’s not scared. Maybe she is a little; she did hustle out of the kitchen when I was yelling at Rowan on the phone earlier.

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