“I wouldn’t be a very good love coach if I wasn’t shouting—or, I guess, texting—plays from the sideline.”
Sonofabitch.
We’re back to this love coach bullshit.
You only did that to yourself.
Yeah, yeah, I don’t need the reminder, thank you very much.
“So…what? You didn’t think I could handle it on my own?”
“What? No—”
“Did you tell Grady why you were texting me?”
“No—”
“Did you two share a good laugh over it?”
“Wha—”
Quinn keeps trying to interrupt, but I’m on a roll and continue to speak over her.
“Did you tell him all about how you’ve been spending the summer helping your nerdy friend date?”
“I—”
I rake a hand through my hair, yanking at the strands until my scalp burns, my chest tightening with a pending explosion.
“I can’t do this anymore, Quinn.” I wave a hand through the air. “I’m done being your charity case.”
#CHAPTER23
* * *
“My charity case?”
Even I wince at the piercing screech echoing off the walls of the narrow hallway. But…I am at a loss. Me, a person who can spout off facts like Most cats are actually allergic to humans has absolutely no idea what to say to the bullshit that just came out of this man’s mouth.
“Que chingados te pasa?” is what I go with. Also, sidebar: I’m still shouting at a decibel better suited for Herkie and his brethren.
CK’s eyes go wide enough that I could pluck them right out of his head and use them as replacement balls on the foosball table in the gaming area.
“It roughly translates to, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I answer his has-no-right-to-come-across-as-adorable-as-it-does-while-he’s-spouting-dumb-shit confusion.
“How can you ask me that?” He slaps his chest, his palm connecting with an audible thump.
“Are you serious right now?” He continues to blink at me, those baby blues completely unobstructed, and that only ramps up my level of pissed off-ness. “Your glasses must be the key to that brilliant brain of yours because you sure think like a moron without them.”
“Huh?”
Ugh, this man. I just want to smack him and kiss him, and I honestly couldn’t tell you in what order.
I’ve been an utter basket case over him. First sitting idly, then not so idly by while he pursued and went out with women I’d never measure up against.
He thinks I think of him as a charity case? As if agreeing to the whole what-the-hell-was-I-thinking love coach thing didn’t feel like it was scraping out a piece of my heart?
Dios santo!
He thinks I helped him because…I felt sorry for him? What the hell would he think if he knew my intentions didn’t stem from pity but from one-hundred-percent self-serving selfishness?
Hell…his request was so earnest it should be criminal how impure my reasonings for accepting were.
“When are you going to open up those beautiful blue eyes of yours and see what’s right in front of you?”
“Oh, don’t worry, I saw all that”—he throws out an arm, gesturing down the hallway and out to the restaurant—“quite clearly.”
“And what exactly do you think you saw?”
He goes to say something, but now I’m the one not letting him speak.
“Because I promise you whatever it is, you’re wrong.”
The defiant clench to his jaw shouldn’t be hot, but it is. Dammit.
“How can you be sure?”
Lord, give me strength.
You know what? He wants to be stubborn? To keep being blind to what’s right in front of him?
Well…
I’m done. I can’t take any more. This ends now. No more games.
Sliding my foot across the floor, I move until our fronts are practically touching. I send a silent prayer of thanks to Jessica Simpson for designing the cute espadrille sandals adorning my feet. The additional four inches they’re adding to my height are more than appreciated at the moment.
“Because, you stupid idiot—”
“That’s redundant,” he says, cutting me off.
I growl like some kind of feral animal, making I want to strangle you claw hands.
“Ay dios mío.” Shaking my head, I bring my hands to a prayer position, my fingers brushing along the buttons of his shirt. “Bless your big dumb heart, Christopher Kent.” I link my fingers together, pushing them out until all my knuckles crack. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“I already said we should end the love coaching thing.”
“THAT IS NOT WHAT THIS IS ABOUT,” I shout, pushing off him and pacing away. I make it a step and a half before I hit the wall and have to turn around.
CK has his hands up, his voice lowering to help soothe the crazy girl in front of him.
One, you’d think he’d be used to my crazy by now, and two, he’s the reason I snapped.
“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is that you are so blind to how amazing you are that it prevents you from seeing what’s right in front of you?”
“You’re starting to talk in circles.”
My hands are in my hair, grasping at the strands like they’re the tether to my sanity. “You’re always spinning me in circles!”
Again, his tone is calm, cajoling even. “You’re not making any sense, Q.”
“That’s because none of this makes sense.” I circle my arms in the air, the back of my hand smacking the wall.
CK slides his hand beneath mine, lifting it to inspect my reddened knuckles, the touch of his thumb running over the backs of them a whole lot nicer than my own.
“I’m still not sure what you mean.”
“You and me.” I flounce my free hand between us.
He lets out a heavy exhalation, shifting until his back is resting against the wall behind him. He seems…almost resigned. “I know.”
Oof…that stings.
“Why don’t you go back to Grady.” CK releases his hold on my hand. “I’m sure he’s starting to wonder what’s taking you so long.”
“Grady?” Why is he bringing up Grady? “Have you not listened to a single word I’ve said?”
“What?”
“Ugh.” Not wanting to risk further injury, I spin for another ineffective pace. “I can’t even with you anymore.”
“Me?” He straightens away from the wall. “What about you?” He points an aggressive finger at me.
“You’re making me dizzy.”
“You’re the one walking in circles.” His breaths come faster as his exasperation grows.
“That’s not what I mean.” Great. I’m back to Screeching Quinn. Awesome.
“Well, this conversation is getting us nowhere.”
“That’s because you’re constantly refusing to hear what I have to say.”
Granted, I can admit the lines have blurred some with the hey-let-me-help-you-get-with-other-girls love coach thing, but for eight months before that, my flirting couldn’t have been more obvious.