She’s taking one step back for every one of my steps forward. Soon, she’s back against the door, chin lifted, eyes blinking up at me. Black sultry lashes frame a pair of knock-you-on-your-ass brown eyes. I put up a wall against them.
“Yes,” she says on a long exhalation. Then she catches herself. “No! That’s not why we went in there. I didn’t plan on stealing from you!”
Her words are so convincing something inside me nearly breaks. Then I realize what she let slip before she caught herself. Yes, it was an act. Yes, she was only kissing me that night because she wanted my money. Who cares that she’s backtracking now? In fact, it almost makes it worse.
I keep a careful distance between us, enough space that I’m not in danger of touching her. I don’t trust myself—not because I’m feeling the passion I felt in that bathroom, not because it’s nearly eating me alive to keep my hands off her, but because I’m so enraged, I don’t trust myself to act like a gentleman.
“And what about now? Why are you here, pretending to be a man on my crew? We both know you’re not here to swing a hammer. So, what is it? Are you going to steal from the guys while they’re out working on the jobsite? No one would expect it from an innocent thing like you, but I know better.” My hand reaches out so I can curve my pointer finger under her chin and force her to meet my eyes.
She yanks her face away from my touch and shoots daggers up at me. “I’m not here pretending to be a guy. I never lied,” she insists, teeth gritted. “I just decided it was best not to advertise that I’m a woman. There’s a difference.”
“Is that what you were doing in the bar that night? Advertising?”
Her hand shoots up, but I catch it before it makes contact with my cheek.
I toss it away just before she turns around, trying to yank the door open.
She reaches for the handle and there are tears on her cheeks now when she glances back at me. “You’re wrong. I am here to work, even if you don’t believe me.”
“No.” I shake my head, back to sounding as if this whole confrontation is beneath me. “I don’t believe you.” And just before the door slams shut behind her, I think, Good. We’re done.
Except it doesn’t feel that way.
Not even close.Chapter 12TaylorSo this is what pure unadulterated rage feels like. There’s so much built up inside of me, I could lift a car and throw it across a football field. I could rip a phonebook in two. I could get out of this truck right now and run the whole way home, and not a pretend-you’re-running-because-your-P.E.-teacher-is-watching situation. I mean arms pumping at my sides, wind in my sails, all-out sprint. That’s how I feel sitting in Jeremy’s truck on the way home to Oak Dale on Friday night.
Meanwhile, he’s happy as a clam. His paycheck is in the cup holder between us. It’s made out for over a thousand dollars with Ethan’s signature in the bottom right corner. Jeremy asked me about mine, and I told him it was roughly the same.
“Really?” he seems surprised. “They gave me a little extra because I have construction experience.”
“Oh, well they pay me extra because working for the boss is such a hard job,” I snap back.
My anger flies over his head. “Huh. I saw him a few times around the jobsite, and he didn’t seem so bad. I mean, I can see why people are intimidated by him—he’s got that look about him—but he wasn’t barking orders or shouting at people or anything.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
Literally anything.
I will listen to a long multifaceted discussion about the current state of politics in America between people talking at half-speed if it means I don’t have to continue discussing Ethan Stone.
Just his name causes a visceral reaction. I wouldn’t be surprised to find I’ve broken out in angry red hives.
The things he accused me of!
The way he spoke to me!
The disdain dripping off his words!
I wish I’d tried to slap him a second time. He probably wouldn’t have seen that one coming, and oh, it would have felt so nice. Of course, it probably would have hurt me more than it hurt him. I’d have broken every finger thanks to his sharply honed features. Still, it would have been worth it.
After I left the trailer, I stormed back to our cabin, gathered my things, stuffed them back into my duffle, and told Jeremy I’d be waiting for him at the truck. I couldn’t wait to leave. I never want to go back to Pine Wood Camp ever again.
I can’t believe Ethan knew who I was the whole week and didn’t say anything. I slept on the bunk over his for five nights while he pretended I was a complete stranger. He called me “man” the night he asked for my name! The memory has me fuming all over again. I bet he was so pleased to find me trapped like that, to get to poke fun at me right to my face.