Page 56 of Lady Sings the Blues

“What’s the matter babe? At least check my resume before writing me off.”

“You don’t have to work at all, Elise. I can take care of us.”

“Then what exactly am I supposed to do with my days? I’ve worked hard for my degrees.”

“You’ll be busy with the kids.”

Wait, what?I shove away, wondering when exactly my Beau had turned into a sexist pig.

“Oh no, you didnotjust go there.” One hand on my hip, using my finger to enunciate each word, I point at the air, in his direction. “You did not. We don’t have any kids, and you keep this shit up we never will.”

“Sorry, lass.” Scotch mutters. As I chance a look over to the man, he won’t meet my eyes and shrugs before withdrawing from the kitchen completely.

Whatever.He’s throwing me off my game. I’m angry, I have to keep focused. I mean, stay home with the kids? I did not work my butt off to get into DePaul’s graduate program to be forced into the role of the little woman. Elise Manning, soccer mom? I take a few steps away from Beau, becauseBosscan’t exist for me right now.

“I’m so disappointed in you,” I whisper. And move to leave too. But Beau can’t let it go, or let me go, reaching out he grabs my wrist. At first I think it’s to apologize, but no. His eyes, his face say he’s angry with me. Angry with me? Nothing raises my hackles more than someone who turns misplaced anger on me because he can’t admit his own idiocy.

In that moment I completely lose my cool, snatching up the mug that I’d left resting on the counter, and throw the remaining milky, sugary liquid in his face. He gives the desired result and releases me, lifting his hands to wipe the coffee from his face.

“Dammit, woman!”

“More where that came from,” I hiss.

“Fuck, Elise.” He strips off his cut, tossing it on the counter and begins unbuttoning his shirt to peel off the brown-stained transparent fabric. “Get to our room.”

“Did you just send me to my room like a two year old?”

“If the shoe fits.”

Okay, that wenttoo far.

I try to remind myself there’s a learning curve for Beau and I, that despite our history, we’ve spent too much time apart, and need to get re-accustomed to each other’s quirks. But some things can’t be blamed on a learning curve, maybe him being dropped on his head, but not the curve.

“Youwillbe sorry.” I warn with my finger pointing directly in his face this time. Then I stomp off to our room.Notbecause he told me to.

Inside our bedroom, my eyes go directly to the cell I’d tossed on the rumpled comforter before leaving after that call. A stupid crank call I don’t want to think about what with Beau being an arrogant, sexist pig. Unfortunately arrogant is a good look on him. Sexist pig, not so much.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. Surround by Beau’sbrothers, no friends of my own. Stinking pranks. It’s all too much, I have to get out for a while. Just for the day.

Maybe it’s not smart of me, but I long for some alone time to clear my head. After a shower, brushing my teeth, and painting on a little light makeup, I walk back over to the bed and pick up my phone to check today’s weather on my weather app—temps today should reach the mid-seventies.

My hair falls in soft curls cascading down just past my shoulders to touch the silverish lavender fitted satin camisole slipped over my skin. I slide up my favorite faded jeans. Naturally distressed, even I have to admit they make my ass look freaking incredible. Between the choice of sneakers, black flip-flops or my silver wedge thongs, I pick the thongs, grateful the boys hadn’t unloaded my stuff inside Beau’s house, but piled it all in the garage.

After slipping the dental floss thin strap of my small, mirrored purse around my shoulders, I cautiously stick my head through the doorway to make sure Beau hasn’t planted a guard on the other side, to keep me locked away inside.

In the twenty minutes I’ve spent primping, he hasn’t even attempted to talk with me. I know he’d hate me leaving the compound wearing this ensemble without him on my arm. The boobs and ass look that good.

Seriously, I don’t get him. Expending all this effort to get me then damaging what we’ve built by turning into this guy I don’t recognize. I’m not the kind of woman who wants to be dominated. Even though, I’ll admit, I give him that in the bedroom. But I maintain how we are in the bedroom does not translate into our everyday lives. I love Beau, but what I want is to be his partner. Why won’t he let me be his partner?

Keys in hand, again, I glance side to side, to make sure I’m not being watched, as I walk casually outside to my parked car, which the brothers who work in Duke’s garage repaired and repainted despite my running back to Chicago. Because of Beau. And I can’t let myself forget that.

The next hurdle, I have to make it past Levi and Blaze, who still guard the fence. Only a couple years younger than me, both have that sexy bad boy thing going on. But Levi has something special. If I was a different kind of girl, the kind the town accuses me of being, I’d flirt, and flirt hard.

So as I turn the ignition, I plaster on my biggest smile and best bubble gum attitude, pull out of the parking spot, and drive slowly over to the gate.

“Hey boys,” I greet them after rolling down my window.

“Where you off to today, Elise?” Levi asks, leaning down close to my face despite Beau’s warning. The man’s a natural flirt. Exuding all that sexy, youthful confidence, he can’t help it.

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