Page 2 of Fighting His Fate
This happens all the time, sweetie. Now pass me another condom.
Grace huffed and dug in her purse for her keys, slamming the metal against the wood, dents and gouges from other nights like this one marring the surface of the door. “I’m not going away. I can’t go anywhere until you move that godda—”
The door opened. He was shirtless, the button of his jeans open and the fly zipped. He was flushed, like he’d just been exercising, and he smelled like alcohol and musk. His eyes were a piercing gray and narrowed with irritation. “You’re going to have to pay for that door.”
She lifted her chin and put her hand on her hip. “If yourfriendswould stop parking me in, I wouldn’t need to disturb yourfestivities.”
“Festivities.”
Her face heated, but she wasn’t going to back down. She’d lived in this duplex three years, and it was the perfect apartment before he came along. “That’s right. The walls aren’t as thick as you might think, Mr. Champion.” While she’d been frustrated and had alluded to his encounters before, her tactics had been passive-aggressive at best. “I hear all sorts of things when you have company.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. Your bedroom butts against mine.”
He crossed his arms, biceps bulging. “That’s funny, because I’ve never heard anything coming from yours.”
The unexpected jab stuck firmly between her ribs. Of course this jerk hadn’t heard anything inappropriate. Her boyfriend was a minister, for God’s sake.
Goodness’ sake, not God’s sake.
And don’t say fuck.
She frowned, thinking of every cuss that had crossed her mind or lips since walking outside. She really had to stop swearing if she was going to be a minister’s wife. “That’s because I don’t have a revolving door that connects my bedroom to a bar like you do.”
Now he was smiling. “A revolving door.”
“You like to repeat me, don’t you? How about you repeat this. Move the damn car, and stop your bimbos from parking me in. I have to get to work.”
He left the doorway and she shuddered. Who would sleep with that guy? Lots of women, apparently, but she certainly wasn’t one of them. She preferred her men educated and cultured and emotionally secure like John, not posturing and insinuating and being an all-around putz.
She bit her nail and it ripped, snagging the nail bed with a painful twinge. She cursed under her breath before shaking her head and staring into Champion’s apartment. Where had he gone? She’d assumed he was grabbing the woman’s keys, but he sure was taking his sweet time about it. Lightning flashed. “Can you hurry up, please?” she yelled inside. “The ER is getting slammed. I have to go.”
He came around the corner wearing moccasin slippers, a set of keys rattling in his hand. He opened an umbrella and handed it to her. “You could have come in, you know, instead of standing out here like a duck.”
She winced, ignoring the umbrella. “I wouldn’t go in your place without a hazmat suit. I’ve seen the kind of traffic that goes through here, remember? It’s like an STD awareness commercial.”
He put the umbrella down. “Funny.” He walked past her, picking up the cell phone and pouring off the standing water. “Shit.”
She followed him down the driveway, noting the way his wet skin glistened in the porch light. He was ripped, his muscles making his torso look like an anatomical specimen, and she licked her lips despite the rain that wet them. Real men didn’t look like he did, men with responsibilities and 401ks, health insurance and two-and-a-half-car garages. No, muscles like that were reserved for guys like this, who slept with easy women and left electronics in the rain.
He backed up the VW bug and she climbed into her own car, the windows instantly fogging up. She rolled hers down to get some air inside, jumping a moment later when Champion appeared. “You have a good night now, Miss Bryant. Go on and save lots of lives.”
She lowered her brow. “You go on and get one more ride on the prom queen before those beer goggles of yours fall off.”
One side of his mouth hitched up in a mocking grin. “You think a lot about the women I bring home?”
She clucked her tongue. “Of course not.”
“Or do you think a lot about me?”
Now she was seething. “You are so goddamn full of yourself. I have a boyfriend.”
He nodded. “Right, the preacher.”
She should leave, drive away from this conversation as fast as her little car would take her. But he was goading her, and she longed to slap that satisfied look off his irritating, soaking wet face. “He’s a good man. Nothing like you.”
“That’s right. Just a good, good man.” He smiled.
