Page 23 of Cockpit
His words grate on my nerves and have my thoughts misfiring so I can’t actually form words. All I manage to get out is, “Grayson.” My mouth opens and closes several times but nothing else comes out.
“What’s that?” he asks as he holds a hand up to his ear. “It seems that you’re having a hard time thinking of what to say, so I’ll help. The words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’ Then again, I shouldn’t expect it from you now since you never knew how to say them before. I’m old enough to know that people don’t change.”
“That’s not—”
“Fair. I know,” he says nonchalantly. “Are we going to stand here and wait for Mick to come back or what?”
“Mick?”
“Harmless drunk guy. Oh . . . wait. Is this all a set-up to see who would take the bait? Should I go so Mick can come back and you can wrangle some other sap from inside to rush out and save you, so you can put him in your contest?”
“This wasn’t a setup. I’m not that conniving or desperate to pull a stunt like that.”
“You sure about that?”
“Screw you.”
“No thanks, I haven’t had enough to drink yet.”
I grit my teeth and fist my hands as every part of me rejects him. At the same time, I hate myself for watching the flex of his bicep as he runs his hand through his hair in frustration, as I remember the heat and feel of his body against mine earlier.
“Such an ass,” I mutter as I stalk past him with fury in my veins.
“So that means no thank you then?” he asks above the click of my heels on the uneven pavement only serving to make me step a little harder.
And then falter.
Fuck.
I stop and hang my head. What in the hell am I doing? I’m standing in a dank alley with the neon from the sign at the front of the bar projecting an eerie glow around me and letting my temper get the better of me.
Is he being a prick? Yes. Is he baiting me so that I hate him and will leave him alone? Hell, yes.
And I walked right into it.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
“Look, I’m sorry.” My words are quiet, but I know he hears every word because his steps slow and then stop. “Thank you for your help.”
When I lift my head, he’s staring at me, head angled, eyes unrelenting, bottom lip worrying between his teeth. “No thanks needed. A gentleman doesn’t step in for those . . . but it’s amazing what sincerity and humility can do to a person’s appeal. You should try it more often.”
Don’t take the bait.
“What’s your problem, Malone?”
“You.” He’s so matter-of-fact it startles me.
“Me?”
“Yep.” This time with a definitive nod.
“Hold grudges long?”
“Nope. Just smart enough to know that people don’t change and too busy to give a rat’s ass if they do.”
We stand there and stare at each other across the dim light as our wills battle.
“You’re infuriating.”
