as if finally noticing how exposed she is. "How much is a roll in the hay with me worth?"
"It wasn't like that." I do my best not to look at her tears and see how badly I’ve hurt her. "Adelaide, I—"
" Fuck you ." She shoves me hard. I don’t budge. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I remain silent, letting her give it to me. I deserve this. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" She thumps her hands back against my chest and tries hard to push me away. Again, I don’t move, frustrating her even further.
"God, men . So I batted my eyes at you. Contrary to what you may think, women can shamelessly flirt and not want to hop into bed with a man." I don’t know how much longer I can bite my tongue. "And you bloody well don’t wager women in a poker bet, you bast—"
"What about your date?" I finally cut in, refusing to take the heat for this solely on my own. That prick was the one who took the bet.
"He told me that the bet was your idea."
Wayne. What else did the little shit tell her?
I should have punched him.
"You knew he was my date. Why would you do that when there’s a room full of women who would have gladly come up here tonight? And they would have come without a price."
I shrug, looking away. There’s no way I can make her understand. At least not without hurting her more than I already have.
Like I said: Utter bastard.
"So, how much am I worth?" she repeats, hands clutching her hips. "How much—"
"Maybe you should go ask your date because contrary to what you may think, Adelaide, he’s the one who took the bloody bet without a thought. He chose the money over you. So what the hell does that tell you?"
She holds my gaze all too briefly, but long enough for me to know my words are finally sinking in. She nods, mostly to herself, then perches down on the edge of the bed, clasping her hands in her lap.
“Why do I always let men do this to me. . .” Her words are said barely in a whisper, for her ears only. She squeezes her eyes shut. I know she’s trying hard not to cry.
I should break my own kneecaps.
This is not how the evening was supposed to turn out, at all.
Not even close.
"You must think I'm a mug," she murmurs, sniffling as she wipes her cheeks with the palms of her hands. “Going on a date with such a. . . ‘tosser’ as you put it.”
"No," I reply, crossing the room to kneel down in front of her.
I don’t touch her and she makes no move to touch me. I just want her to know that I’m here. That what’s happened so far—the whole show she put on the second she closed the door to my room—that it’s okay.
"It's okay," she mutters, cradling her face in her hands. "I’m the biggest freaking idiot."
"Far from it, love."
That is most definitely Short-arse Tosser Wayne.
I contemplate calling Travis and telling him to find out where Wayne lives, so I can teach him a lesson. But I realise it won’t make her feel any better. That, and the fact my phone is in my tuxedo jacket, the one she’s wearing.
"You're just being nice," she says softly, sniffling again. "Especially since I gave you a free. . . peep show."
I gently brush her soft, silky hair from her face so I can see those heart-stopping dark eyes. "I can give you one in return, so we’re even. I can even put on some music if you like." She laughs faintly, and I’m relieved when some hint of sparkle seems to return to her eyes.
“Got any baby oil?” she jokes.
I throw my head back and laugh. “No. But I’m pretty certain Travis carries some with him. I can go ask—”
“ No. No I was kidding.” She laughs heartily and the sound vibrates through my core. It feels good. “I think Lassie’s had enough excitement tonight.”
“It’s good to see you laugh again.”
That twinkle in her eye disappears. "I thought coming tonight would be fun. . . a chance for me to. . . move on from. . . things. . .” She pauses. "I was very, very wrong about that."
She tightens my jacket round her, moving to button
"It wasn't like that." I do my best not to look at her tears and see how badly I’ve hurt her. "Adelaide, I—"
" Fuck you ." She shoves me hard. I don’t budge. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I remain silent, letting her give it to me. I deserve this. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" She thumps her hands back against my chest and tries hard to push me away. Again, I don’t move, frustrating her even further.
"God, men . So I batted my eyes at you. Contrary to what you may think, women can shamelessly flirt and not want to hop into bed with a man." I don’t know how much longer I can bite my tongue. "And you bloody well don’t wager women in a poker bet, you bast—"
"What about your date?" I finally cut in, refusing to take the heat for this solely on my own. That prick was the one who took the bet.
"He told me that the bet was your idea."
Wayne. What else did the little shit tell her?
I should have punched him.
"You knew he was my date. Why would you do that when there’s a room full of women who would have gladly come up here tonight? And they would have come without a price."
I shrug, looking away. There’s no way I can make her understand. At least not without hurting her more than I already have.
Like I said: Utter bastard.
"So, how much am I worth?" she repeats, hands clutching her hips. "How much—"
"Maybe you should go ask your date because contrary to what you may think, Adelaide, he’s the one who took the bloody bet without a thought. He chose the money over you. So what the hell does that tell you?"
She holds my gaze all too briefly, but long enough for me to know my words are finally sinking in. She nods, mostly to herself, then perches down on the edge of the bed, clasping her hands in her lap.
“Why do I always let men do this to me. . .” Her words are said barely in a whisper, for her ears only. She squeezes her eyes shut. I know she’s trying hard not to cry.
I should break my own kneecaps.
This is not how the evening was supposed to turn out, at all.
Not even close.
"You must think I'm a mug," she murmurs, sniffling as she wipes her cheeks with the palms of her hands. “Going on a date with such a. . . ‘tosser’ as you put it.”
"No," I reply, crossing the room to kneel down in front of her.
I don’t touch her and she makes no move to touch me. I just want her to know that I’m here. That what’s happened so far—the whole show she put on the second she closed the door to my room—that it’s okay.
"It's okay," she mutters, cradling her face in her hands. "I’m the biggest freaking idiot."
"Far from it, love."
That is most definitely Short-arse Tosser Wayne.
I contemplate calling Travis and telling him to find out where Wayne lives, so I can teach him a lesson. But I realise it won’t make her feel any better. That, and the fact my phone is in my tuxedo jacket, the one she’s wearing.
"You're just being nice," she says softly, sniffling again. "Especially since I gave you a free. . . peep show."
I gently brush her soft, silky hair from her face so I can see those heart-stopping dark eyes. "I can give you one in return, so we’re even. I can even put on some music if you like." She laughs faintly, and I’m relieved when some hint of sparkle seems to return to her eyes.
“Got any baby oil?” she jokes.
I throw my head back and laugh. “No. But I’m pretty certain Travis carries some with him. I can go ask—”
“ No. No I was kidding.” She laughs heartily and the sound vibrates through my core. It feels good. “I think Lassie’s had enough excitement tonight.”
“It’s good to see you laugh again.”
That twinkle in her eye disappears. "I thought coming tonight would be fun. . . a chance for me to. . . move on from. . . things. . .” She pauses. "I was very, very wrong about that."
She tightens my jacket round her, moving to button
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