Turning her back to him, she inserted the key into the lock and pulled the door open. Looking over her shoulder, she scowled at him. “Fine. Come on.”
Following her inside to a small room, he watched her push the button. Neither of them spoke as they waited for the car to reach the ground floor. When it arrived, they both entered and waited for the doors to close.. The elevator doors slid shut with an electronic sigh.
Tank was damned if he was going to say anything. She was the one who had a shitload of explaining to do. So, he leaned back against the railing and stared at her reflection in the brass doors as she pressed the button for her floor.
When they entered her condo, he went to the kitchen and put the bag on the counter. Without thinking, he started taking the groceries out.
“You don’t have to do that.”
Putting a head of lettuce on the island, he stepped back. “Fine. Do you have any beer?”
“No.”
“Bourbon?”
“No.”
“What do you have besides wine?”
“Water.”
“Fuck that,” he huffed, taking out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting some beer.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “I thought you wanted to talk.”
He waved his hand between them. “We are.”
“Just go in the other room and let me put this stuff away. I’ll be there in a few,” she ordered in a tone of undisguised annoyance.
“Whatever you say, darlin’.”
Tank sat down on a camel-colored sofa and settled into its cushiony comfort. He was ready to call Riley’s Liquor when he heard a clink on the glass top of the coffee table. Looking over, he saw a bottle of locally crafted beer with a coaster set underneath it.
“Thanks,” he said to Lena’s retreating back. “I guess you had some after all.”
She stopped and turned.
“I just remembered I had some left over from an event.”
“Cheers.” Picking up the bottle, he held it in the air. “Do you want one?”
The only response was the slamming of her bedroom door. Tank chuckled before taking a long pull of his drink.
A few minutes later, her footsteps had him looking up from his phone, and his breath hitched. She wore a short white T-shirt and gray leggings that clung to her curves, ending at mid-calf, which emphasized her toned muscles and rich tan. Leaning back against a throw pillow, he cocked his head and let his gaze travel down her body and back up again, enjoying every inch of it. The moment his eyes came to her face, he saw the disapproving frown creasing her forehead.
Lena sank down into a rattan armchair across from the couch and took a drink from her bottled water. He waited until she set it down on the table before he spoke.
“How’ve you been?”
“What do you want to talk about?”
He shrugged. “You owe me an explanation. I thought things were gelling between us.”
“I don’t owe you anything. Actually, you have a lot of gall coming over here.”
Tank tightened his grip around the beer bottle. “Just tell me what the fuck I did, then I’m outta here.”
“So you can go see Quinn Fitzgerald?”
He jerked back. “Quinn? What the hell does she have to do with this?”
“Everything,” Lena said in a quiet voice.
“Like what? Quit with the bullshit games and just tell it like it is.”
“I know you’re seeing her, and who knows how many other women. I know we never talked about being exclusive, but you acted like I was the only one you were interested in. I guess that comes easy for a lot of men.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I’m not fucking Quinn, and I haven’t even seen her since the engagement party. She’s been blowing up my phone for the last week or so, but I haven’t answered her calls. I don’t know why you think I’m with her.”
Lena sat still, her gaze scanning his face.
“I know you don’t know me too well, but lying’s not my style. If I were with her, I wouldn’t have been with you ’cause cheating’s not my style, either.” He leaned over and slid his cell across the coffee table. “Check out the missed calls and unanswered texts.”
For a second, she hesitated, then she reached over and picked up the phone. Tank brought the beer bottle to his lips and took a deep gulp. He had no damn idea why Lena thought he was banging Quinn. There was no way in hell Quinn could ever hold a candle to Lena.
Without saying a word, she pushed the phone toward him, then pulled up her legs and tucked them underneath her.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“So you’re not dating her?”
“No. I told you at the engagement party that you didn’t have to worry about her, and I’m saying it again. Quinn and I met back in high school, and she was different back then. Anyway, we went out for several months, then her dad put the kibosh on it, and that was that—no big deal.”
“So you haven’t dated her since?”
“Date? No. Fucked from time to time? Yeah, but that hasn’t happened in a long time.” He laughed. “Even though she likes bad boys, she likes her daddy’s money more. She’s engaged to some rich dude in L.A.”
Lena’s eyes widened. “She’s engaged?”
“Yeah—it’s fucked-up. They’ve got an open relationship, but their families don’t know it. Anyway, Quinn isn’t my type of woman. There’s no fuckin’ way I’d be in anything permanent with her.”
“What is your type of woman?”
“You,” he said, smiling over the rim of his bottle.
A reddish color stained her cheeks, and she turned her head away.
“As far as other women go, I haven’t hooked up with one since I met you at the party.”
She rolled her eyes. “And this comes from a man who carries condoms in his pockets.”
“Don’t be doin’ that shit. If I were hooking up with some chick, I’d tell you. I’m not. And I carry a condom ’cause I don’t trust a chick who tells me she’s on birth control. Women have a tendency to lie and manipulate a guy to get what they want.”
Lena listened to him with an incredulous stare.
“What? Do you think men are the only ones who lie?”
“Who hurt you?” she asked.
The question took him by surprise, and left a sour taste in his mouth.
“It’s just that it sounds like you don’t trust women in general. I know you’re close to your mother, so I’m figuring someone you once loved must have hurt you.”
The muscles in his face tightened as he met her gaze.
“I didn’t come over here to talk about me, only us.”
“But to know each other better so there is an us, we have to know what makes each of us tick.”
A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. “What makes you tick?”
“You’re changing the subject. Wait, you’re deflecting.” Lena frowned. “At least that’s what I think my therapist would say.”
“You have a therapist?”
She laughed. “Yeah—I’m a bit fucked-up.”
“Who the hell isn’t? Does it have to do with your parents’ deaths? I can imagine that must be hard to handle.”