Page 7 of Decked By The Grumpy Golem
Then his jaw tightens, and he looks away sharply, his whole body radiating the kind of tension that used to mean he was pissed. I know in the back of my mind that I should do the same and look away. But I can’t. I just stare at his stupidly handsome profile, my entire chest gaping open.
He starts walking. Away from me, of course.
"Go on, Lucia." Mom's voice cuts through my frozen moment, cheerful and completely oblivious to the emotional earthquake happening inside my chest. "Say hello. It's been years. It’s always good to reconnect with old friends."
"You should." Dad's voice is quieter but carries more weight. “For old times’ sake.”
Before I can think of an excuse, he's herding the twins toward the sleigh line with Mom at his side, their voices fading as they discuss hot cocoa and horse rides. Leaving me standing here with no buffer, no escape route, and no choice but to deal with the ghost of my past who's apparently determined to ignore my existence.
Well, fuck that.
"Gideon!" I call out, my voice sharper than I intended, carrying across the parking lot like a challenge.
He stops but doesn't turn around, his broad shoulders rigid under his canvas jacket. The fact that he's making me chase after him like some desperate ex-girlfriend makes my temper spike.
I jog a few steps to catch up, my heeled boots slipping slightly on the packed snow.
"Don’t act like you don’t recognize me!"
When he finally faces me, his expression is carved from stone. Which, again, is literal in his case. His gray eyes are flat and distant, like he's looking through me instead of at me.
"Lucia." One word. Flat. Like I'm some annoying acquaintance he's trying to politely dismiss.
Like I’m no one to him.
Like I’m not the girl who used to know every one of his secrets. Not the person who held his hand through his father's funeral. Not the woman who gave him her virginity on prom night and woke up the next morning to find him gone without explanation.
Just… Lucia. Like I'm nobody.
The casual dismissal hits me like a punch in the tits, and I have to work to keep my voice level.
"It's been a long time."
"Has it?" He glances at his watch with theatrical indifference. "I hadn't noticed."
Oh, we're going to play it like that? Fine. Two can play this game.
"Really?" I let my voice drip with false sweetness. "Because I heard from Mrs. Primrose that you've been asking about me. Something about wondering if I was married? Kids? How I was doing in New York?"
It's a complete lie, but the way his jaw ticks tells me I've hit a nerve.
"Evelyn Primrose talks too much," he says curtly.
"Funny, she said the same thing about you.” Another lie, but I'm on a roll now. “Such a Chatty Cathy, this Gideon.”
I’m so mad now I could scream.
Ten years of wondering what the hell happened between us, ten years of writing heroes in my books who sound and think exactly like him. Ten years of measuring every man against the memory of a boy who couldn't even be bothered to say goodbye. It all comes bubbling up like acid in my throat and I don’t care if anyone sees it.
His eyes narrow. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
He turns to leave again, and something in me snaps.
Without thinking, I bend down and scoop up a fistful of snow, pack it hard between my palms, and fling it square at the back of his head. It hits with a satisfyingthwack, exploding into white powder that dusts his collar and drips down his neck.
He stops dead in his tracks.
Slowly, so slowly it's almost cinematic, he turns around. Snow melts against the heat of his skin, droplets trailing down behind his ears. His eyes have gone from flat gray to storm-cloud dark, and there's something dangerous in his expression that makes my pulse kick up for entirely different reasons.
