Page 8 of Wrangled
He slides the plate over to me and watches as I take a small bite. “It’s good.”
He nods, satisfied, before making himself a monstrosity of a sandwich that contains about ten different types of meat. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to eat my share, too, and balance the scales. He sits beside me, and we eat in silence. I’ve not had to make small talk before. Most people ignore me or yell at me, and I’ve grown accustomed to it. Now, though, I wish I could think of something cool or witty to say.
“What’s Andy’s deal with you anyway?”
And just like that, reality crashes back down. This isn’t a Hallmark movie, and Austin is far from a hero. Even if there weren’t such an age gap between us, he’d never look at a girl like me twice.
“You’d have to ask him.”
“Well, I’m asking you.” He takes both plates and walks over to the sink, rinsing them before putting them in the dishwasher.
“I don’t know. That’s the only answer I have.”
“So he just one day decided to start hating you?” he asks skeptically.
“Why is that so hard to believe? The whole town hates me. He’s just jumped on the bandwagon so he doesn’t get left behind by his friends.” I get to my feet, done with this conversation. “Look, thanks for the sandwich, but I think I should go.”
He shakes his head. “Stay. I’ll grab you some iced tea, and you can go curl up on the sofa for a little while. I have a bit of work to do anyway.”
“That’s kind, but I really should just go.”
“Who hurt you, Calliope?”
I pause at his brazen question, figuring it deserves a brazen response. I turn and look at him. “You know who.” I dare him to say something else.
His jaw gets tight as he bites back whatever is on the tip of his tongue. “Let me show you where the den is.”
“Austin.”
“Can you take another beating?”
I flinch away from him, making him curse.
“You’re safe here. That’s not what I meant.”
Ah, he means if I go home and my dad’s waiting for round two. Well, round three at this point. Truth is, I’m not sure. I bite my lip, weighing the pros and cons. Realistically, if my father is in a mood when I get back, I’m not sure I can endure another one.
“Fine, I’ll stay, but just for a little while.”
“Good. Come on.”
He walks to the door, expecting me to follow. Like the good little lamb I am, I do. He leads me to a room just off the kitchen. “This is the sitting room.”
I look around at the large, comfy-looking sofa with the blanket thrown over the back. An end table with a lamp sits to the left of it, and on the wall above a fireplace is a large television. There is a black grand piano in the far corner that’s as imposing as the man looking at me. I wonder if he plays, and then I wonder why I care.
“Remote’s on the side table. Get comfortable while I grab you a drink.”
“Alright.” I wait for him to leave before I sit on the sofa and take the remote. I skip through until I find something comforting to watch and settle on an episode ofGilmore Girls. I kick off my shoes and tuck my legs underneath me, arranging my dress to make sure I’m covered.
Austin walks in with a tall glass of iced tea and hands it to me, his eyes skipping to the TV. “And that’s my cue to leave. I’ll be in my office at the end of the hall if you need me.”
“Okay.”
He nods and moves to leave, but I reach up and snag his arm. “Thanks, Austin,” I tell him softly.
“You’re welcome, Calliope.” He tugs my hand from his arm, making my sleeve slip back again. His thumb skims over my birthmark, making me shiver. “That’s an unusual birthmark,” he comments before I tug my hand free and look down at it.
I frown when I realize how red it looks. “It runs in my family,” I tell him absently, wondering if something in one of my lotions has aggravated it.
