A Night by My Fire

Idiot.

“This is adequate.”

River held her fork, the poor utensil squeezed in her fist, and fantasized about stabbing him in the eye with it. “It’s eggs.”

The underlying agitation in her voice apparently made no sense to him. “I know what eggs are.”

She grit her teeth. “I used cheese.”

“The sour additive was unnecessary.”

Wondering what the jacka

ss would do if she threw her plate against the wall, River shoveled in the last of her meal, using the distraction to resist attacking the moron. When her plate was done, she didn’t chuck it at the wheezing idiot’s head. Instead she tossed the plastic dish toward the sink and let the ricochet off the wall suffice.

River left the table, unaware of the startled expression of her guest. She wanted space, but the howling outside, the fact that twice she’d already dug out the door to no avail, reminded her there would be no space.

What she really wanted was a drink. “Next time you cook, Mr. I’m so fucking perfect at food things!”

“Your arguments are tired and growing far more irrational.”

Two days prior she’d worried he was going to kill her. Now all River wondered was how long it would be before she killed him. Spinning on her heels, she hissed, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get eggs here?”

“No.”

“Hard, dickhead. They clump, they sour. They just don’t keep.”

“I said the meal was adequate.”

The small house could not hold such a big voice. But she was happy to bring the rafters down. “You know what would be a really good idea? Stop saying things!”

It was as if he didn’t even care about all his unspoken threats anymore. The dick was just placid. “Read another story.”

River’s furious tapping of her foot ceased. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked—well, ordered was a more accurate description. She knew he knew that it would shut her mouth. That she could not resist to take a book, to read aloud, and see how uncannily all would settle.

Rubbing her lips together, she frowned. The space between her brows relaxed. The desire to strangle him with his own intestines failed, her hand reaching for a hardcover.

Taking a seat in her chair, the looming stranger shuffling toward the far end of the couch. Each had their place. Neutrality had resumed. Cover flipped open, River began.

But this would not do.

Three pages in, she snapped the book shut and glared. “That was the best I could do. I shared my best supplies.”

“Best is subjective to opinion,” her stranger said. “But I have had much worse.”

Elbow to the armrest, River rubbed her face. His statements of this nature were making her crazy. “Princess, you need to learn some manners.”

“Your need to name call is asinine, as is your attempt to degrade me by comparing me to a woman. You are a woman. Your argument only makes you seem even further below me.”

It started as a cough. The noise caught in River’s throat, her face grimaced as she tried to keep it down. But she couldn’t. Gut busting laughs took over. “You should be so lucky to possess a vagina! I call you princess because you are so damn snotty with your straight back and holier-than-thou comments. You’re a walking cliché. You are a pretentious, wanna-be prom queen, pain in the ass!”

***

Stephen flushed, saw her anger had been redirected, but not the way he’d been engineering. Growling, he leaned closer, “Explain.”

“No.”

“Explain.”