Her eyebrows pinned together when she recognized what it was. He tossed the pill pack onto the bed near her but still said nothing.
She had no idea what the fuck was going on and why he’d carry her birth control from the bathroom to the bedroom. So, she had to guess.
“Bet you’re relieved, right? You didn’t ask, you assumed. That’s what arrogant assholes do.”
His lips flattened out.
She did not understand the man at all. And probably never would.
He hated her, but he left his mark on her. Not once but two times.
He hated her, but he had fucked her twice without even making sure birth control was covered.
He hated her, but seemed to be bothered that she was on birth control.
Or maybe she was imagining that, too, and it really was relief.
The man had the false notion that fucking her a second time would purge her from his system.
No.
That wasn’t it at all. He knew it wouldn’t. That was only the excuse he told himself so he could live with his decision, live with what he wanted when he hated wanting it.
Now, she saw it all clearly.
Because he could’ve walked out her bedroom door, got dressed and simply left. Not returned to the bedroom carrying what prevented her from getting pregnant.
Still…
For fuck’s sake, her brain hurt. This man had broken her damn brain.
It also didn’t help she was running on fumes, needed sleep and lots of it. Normally by now, she’d be in la-la land and not staring at a naked biker in her bedroom. “This won’t happen again, right? I don’t need to change my locks or bar my windows?”
“Ain’t gonna happen again,” he grumbled, turned on the heel of his bare foot and she once again got to watch that spectacular ass waltz right back out of her room.
She would miss that view and the good sex that went along with it.
But c’est la vie.
And anyway, he still never thanked her for saving his ass on the mountain and hadn’t even bothered to wish her a Merry Christmas.
His greetings sucked and so did his goodbyes.
“Merry Christmas, dickhead!” she yelled out. “Enjoy the lump of coal Santa left in your stocking!”
She snorted when a few seconds later the door slammed shut.
She hoped he bothered to put on his clothes before walking outside into the December weather. More importantly, so she didn’t get evicted by Mr. Danson for a naked man leaving her apartment first thing Christmas morning.
She tossed an arm over her eyes and let out a frustrated scream.
Merry fucking Christmas.
Chapter Fourteen
Rook turned down the defroster so he could hear the engine better over the blowing fan. He slowed the truck on the snow-covered street so he could listen more carefully. The customer had been complaining about a noise in his engine and so far, Rook hadn’t heard it. Since fresh fallen snow covered Main Street, and the township hadn’t had a chance to plow it yet, he didn’t want to gun the engine and possibly wreck.
Dutch would kick his ass if that happened.
Or try to.
Most likely Dutch wouldn’t succeed unless he was whipping wrenches at Rook’s head. That happened plenty of times in the past when Rook had enough of his father’s shit and mouthed off to him.
Usually he’d hear a warning, “Boy!” or an even louder, “Ungrateful bastard!” before the alloy steel tool came flying in his direction. At least the shout gave him time enough to duck and avoid a permanent indentation in his melon.
He and his old man had gotten into plenty of brawls over the years. Too many to count. Usually, at least one, if not both, ended up walking away with a bloody lip or nose or even a black eye.
Rook grinned.
His father was an asshole, so Rook got it honestly. But, even so, he wouldn’t want any other father than Dutch. The grumpy old fuck was a better parent than Bebe ever was or could be.
Both Rook and Cage recognized the fact that Dutch had done his best. No matter how hard it was to raise two boys on his own and how imperfect his parenting was, the man never gave up trying.
Neither of them ever went to bed hungry or cold, either.
Even though it was still snowing, it had turned to light flurries and the wipers didn’t have to work as hard. The customer needed to clean his damn windshield, though. It was smeared and made seeing the white-covered road in front of him difficult, especially when the center double-line was covered.
He continued to head toward the center of town away from the garage, hoping to find a route the plows had already cleared. Instead of finding a snow-free street, he spotted something else.
He blinked to clear his vision, then blinked again. Once that didn’t change what he was seeing, he squinted and ducked his head to look through a cleaner spot on the dirty windshield.