Page 25 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
“No. But it wasn’t like that. It was more like—”
“Did you ask him to remove his hand?”
“What do you mean? Like, unhand me, you fiend?” I giggle nervously.
“Yeah,” Wyatt says. “Or, like, take your fucking hand off my shoulder.”
“It was just my shoulder,” I say.
“I don’t care if it was your pinkie toe, Brie. When someone’s touch makes you uncomfortable, you fucking ask them to stop. Verbally. Audibly. Clearly. Loudly.”
“Okay. Okay. Jeez. Pete is harmless. He—”
“No one is harmless.”
“Would you stop interrupting me?” I drop his hand and face him full-on.
“Then stop sounding stupid,” he says.
“You did not just call me stupid.” How did I forget what an asshole he is?
“You’re right, I didn’t. I said stopsoundingstupid. There’s a difference.”
“There’s no difference.” He’s not only an asshole, but he’s arrogant and cocky as well.
“Yes, there is. One is saying what youare,and one is saying how yousound.” His tone is condescending, unnecessarily emphasizing the words ‘are’ and ‘sound’ as if I’d miss them otherwise.
“Thank you so much for mansplaining.”
“I wasn’t mansplaining, Jesus, Brie. I was just pointing out—”
“How dumb you think I am by mansplaining.”
“Don’t interrupt me—” he starts.
“Don’t interrupt me,” I say.
The elevator dings our arrival on the eighteenth floor, where our room block is. I speed-walk from the elevator down the hall, eager to get away from him as quickly as possible.
“Wrong way,” he calls after me.
I glance at the numbers on the doors near me.
Dammit! He’s right.
I turn and head back toward him. “You don’t know where my room is,” I say as I pass him.
“Sure, I do,” he says, following me. “It’s two doors down from mine. I’m 1807, and you’re 1811.”
I glance at the envelope around my keycard, where the room number is written. I already know he’s right. I’m just holding out hope that maybe I’m wrong about it. I’m not.
Dammit.
“How do you know what room I’m in?” I ask, pausing in front of my door.
He shrugs. “I asked. So I can make sure you’re safe.” He swipes his card against the reader, looks over his shoulder, and says, “It’s what I do.” Then disappears through the doorway.
I head into my own and flop down on the bed.
