Page 45 of One Good Crash
Plus, the guy thought I was a hooker.
Jerk.
This only served to remind me of the other things I'd overheard while listening from below. None of them brought me any pleasure – in particular that bit about Jax screwing someone named Morgan.
It shouldn't have mattered. After all, I barely knew the guy. And I was determined not to pry, no matter how curious I might be. If nothing else, I refused to give him the satisfaction.
Unfortunately, he wasn't nearly as respectful ofmyprivacy as I was ofhis.
Chapter 19
For what felt like the millionth time, he asked, "What happened?"
We were sitting in a side room, and I was wrapped in a soft flannel blanket that he'd grabbed from a nearby chest. Like the sap I was, I'd protested that I shouldn't be using the blanket at all, given the fact that I was so grubby with sand and who-knows-what-else.
Ignoring my protests, he'd tucked the blanket around me anyway, and thenalsoignored my claim that I wasn't thirsty. So here I was, wrapped up and sipping hot cocoa in the middle of the night. On the nearby side table sat an ice-cold bottle of water, which I'd yet to open.
Whether I was too hot or too cold, I'd have the perfect beverage either way. I hadn't asked for either one, and yet, I couldn't help but appreciate all of it – which only made it that much harder to be angry with him.
Damn it.
His question hung in the air, and I repeated the same answer that I'd already given. "Nothing happened. I just left, that's all."
"But why? You didn't get my message?"
Nowthatmade me pause. "What message?"
His jaw tightened. "So, you didn't."
"No," I said. "I didn't even know you left one."
We were sitting in matching arm chairs with the side table between us. He abruptly stood. "I should've known."
I stared up at him. "You should've known what?"
"That it wasn't true." He shoved a hand through his hair. "Hell, Ididknow."
I wasn't following. "Sorry, but what are you talking about?"
He looked away and muttered, "Nothing."
I asked, "Are you doing that in retaliation?"
His gaze returned to mine. "Doing what?"
"Saying 'nothing,' because that's what I've been saying, like you're throwing the same word back at me to make a point?"
For a moment, he looked almost ready to smile. "That's not it," he said. "I just mean it's nothing I want you to worry about." His mouth tightened. "But I can promise you this. I'm gonna handle it."
"Handle what?"
"Forget it," he said. "It's my problem, not yours. And we're gonna keep it that way, alright?"
I was just about to object when his expression softened. He moved closer and crouched down in front of me. We were nearly at eye-level, with him close enough to touch.
He was still wearing his tuxedo, and I was still wearing my dress. But it was painfully obvious that both of us looked a lot rougher than we had earlier in the evening.
I was a total mess from head to toe. Even now, I could feel the sand in my hair and grittiness between my toes. I never did put my shoes back on, which was just as well, unless I wanted them ruined, assuming they weren't already.
