Page 49 of The Game

'No." He frowned. "Stay here." What? Was he going all Neanderthal now?

"Okay, coffee and then we will see how you feel."

We were up to the house my arm around his waist when he whispered into my ear, his breath hot on my neck. "You know I'm not drunk."

I glanced up at him in the darkness, my eyes searching his face. "Sure you’re not."

He shook his head, his brows knitting together, and a purposeful hand slid down my back. "Not that drunk."

"Sure thing, Hot Shot. Come on, I'll put the kettle on."

In the kitchen, I glared at him. "What the hell were you doing at a strip club, Willis? Seriously." I ran a frustrated hand through my knotted hair. It had dried into twists after my unsuccessful bath.

"It wasn't my idea."

"No?" I wasn’t sure I could believe this. "What was your idea?"

He glared at me from across the kitchen. "You don't want to know."

"I can assure you that right now I would love to know anything you are thinking. Or even if you think at all." My cheeks were burning a livid red and my eyes tingling.

"No." He folded his arms across his chest.

This conversation felt like it was going nowhere. But the sting of him ignoring me the last couple of weeks wasn't going just to evaporate because he was back, leant against my kitchen counter.

"I hate you." There it was out.

"And I hate you," he retaliated without an apparent thought.

I flung two cups out onto the counter top and started making our coffee.

He crept up behind me and ran a hand down my shoulder. "It was Anderson's idea. And do you know what Rivers? I thought it would be good, I thought it would help me."

My stomach coiled with his words. I was repulsed. "Help you with what?” I spat. What did you get, a dance? A private show?"

"No!"

"Why?" I fired straight back at him causing his eyes to blink in surprise.

A frown flickered across his face. "I can't tell you."

A fire burned through my veins. "I can't believe you lied that we were friends. That hurt, you bloody bastard.”

His hand clenched around my wrist and bound it tight to his side. "Stop."

"No."

His eyes delved into mine. "Please, just stop." His words punched a deep ache within the pit of my stomach.

I pulled away and reached for the kettle splashing hot water into the mugs.

"Rivers." My name came out of his mouth like a low choke. "Can I take a shower? I hate how I smell."

I nodded, unable to look at him. “Sure, you know where it is. I'll organise you a cab."

"Thank you." His curt response sliced through the air.

He walked away, heading to the guest suite and a burning rage like none I'd ever experienced before flourished through my veins. The boiler kicked in and I knew he was in the shower and as I flung my dirty crockery from my evening meal into the sink a splash of spite built inside me. He went to a strip club? I mean I knew we were nothing to each other, but still, how could he call me from a strip club?