Page 18 of Coming to Grips
He’d been so focused on his food, he hadn’t noticed her approach. So much for enjoying his meal.
“Anna,” he says with a nod. Can she not leave him the hell alone? They’ve got nothing more to say to each other.
“How’s your lunch?”
“Fine, thanks.” He takes another bite, too in need of sustenance for her to eliminate his appetite. “Was there something you needed?”
“Not really...just wondering what you’ve been up to?” she asks.
He swallows the broth wrong, which makes him choke and sets off a coughing fit. Had she really just stressed the wordup, or had he imagined it? There’s no way she could know that he’s had more erections in the last week and a half than he’d had the last month and a half they were officially together. Getting it up because of a little TLC from his best friend and not from his girlfriend is pretty sad commentary on the state of their relationship.
Her eyebrow rises.
He clears his throat and takes a drink of water. “Sorry. Swallowed wrong. I’ve been up to rehab.”
“Uh huh...”
The hairs on the back of his neck prickle at her tone. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that no one’s seen much of you since you got home. You and Kyle have been holed up in the cabin since you were released from the hospital.”
Why is she even keeping tabs on him? Of course, if she were truly spying on him, she’d have known they’d gone out both yesterday and the day before. Tuesday’s visit to the aircraft museum had been the fucking bomb—he’s loved planes since childhood. Wednesday, they’d just run errands, but they’d stopped for ice cream in Ten Rigs to combat the heat a little, and it’d just been plain fun. None of that is any of her business.
“And...?” He nods to his arm. “I was injured. I’ve been recuperating. That’s where we live. What of it? Besides, you came by, remember? Kyle was at work, so I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, but there’s nothing going on between Kyle and me.”
LIARflashes through his brain in neon pink capital letters. The urge to flush is strong, but he takes a deep breath and lets it go. There’s nothing going on besides his body’s unfortunate reaction to certain stimuli.
Isn’t there?
A band of blue jays takes flight in his stomach, flapping and squawking in protest. Okay, so maybe there’s something. He’s not sure what. Now is definitely not the time to even think about it. Not in front of Anna.
She shrugs, eyes cold and mouth pinched.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my lunch.” He’s so glad they’re over. If he could just get her to leave him the hell alone for good, life would be really fucking great, even with his arm not functioning.
A stubborn expression hardens her chin, and she crosses her arms. “Don’t let me stop you.”
Good grief, really? He can’t just pick up his tray and walk away, and she knows it. Although he could leave his lunch. But that means no lunch and her winning whatever game she thinks she’s playing, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let either of those things happen.
“Suit yourself.” He picks up his spoon and takes another bite. The stew has cooled to perfect eating temperature, and he eats with relish. He does his best to ignore her and waves at various people as they come and go. A couple of fellow wranglers stop by and say hello, and they chitchat for a few minutes. Anna sits stone-faced the whole time.
Chase empties his bowl, pushes the tray aside, and sets his cake in front of him. He slides the first bite into his mouth and purposefully lets go a little moan of pleasure louder than it needs to be.
Anna grimaces.
Rich, moist, and chocolaty. Man, he loves cake. Chocolate cake, vanilla cake, pumpkin cake. That’s his favorite. Kyle loves cake too. Anna doesn’t love cake. What is up with that? There has to be something fundamentally wrong with a person who doesn’t like cake. He should have taken it as a sign a long time ago. He might have saved them both a few years they can never get back.
“Oh, man,” he says, “this is so good. You want a piece?” He points to the dessert case. “I’ll buy you one.”
She rises to her feet so quickly the chair slides backwards a foot and she yells, “I don’t want a piece of damned cake. I have to get back to work.”
He shrugs. No, she’s always refused cake, and, by God, he needs more cake in his life. He has no doubt that he still hasn’t seen the last of her, but he can’t count this particular battle as anything other than a win. He salutes and says, “Have a good afternoon.”
Anna’s laser eyes narrow. “I won’t have good afternoon,” she snaps, her voice still at a dozen decibels. “You broke up with me, damn you.”
The mess goes silent and everyone watches her stalk out, her long dark hair twitching with each stomp. Once the doors swing closed, the weight of the stares turn on him.
Strangely, he’s more amused than anything. He should be embarrassed, or angry maybe, but all he can muster at the moment is a huge amount of relief that he’s dodged that raging bull. Although, why, after a month, it’s still a thing, he has no idea.
