Mr Garcia

He gives me a slow, sexy smile, “Well, I’m glad you’re back.”

Ha. Horny are you, fucker?

“I’m tired. I’m going to have a nap.” I gesture to the door. “Do you mind?”

A smirk crosses his face. “Do I mind?”

“Closing the door.”

“This one?” He taps the door with his palm.

Yes, that one, you dumb fuck. What other doors are there? “Please.”

He walks into my room and closes the door behind him. I stare at him flatly.

He sips his scotch and raises his eyebrow.

I cross my arms over my chest. Seriously, just, go away.

“Is there a problem?” he asks calmly.

“You tell me.”

He holds his hands up and shrugs sarcastically.

I smile sweetly, the psycho part of my brain now activated. “I’m tired. Please leave.”

“How could you possibly be tired? You slept like a log all night.”

I glare at him.

You’ll be sleeping like a dead person soon. “Sebastian.” I sigh. “I am not in the mood for you today. If you don’t want to argue, I suggest you leave me alone.”

“What’s turned you so pissy?”

“Oh, my fuck!” I snap in exasperation.

Before I explode, I turn my back to him, go to the fridge, and fill a glass full of wine. This damn man is turning me into an alcoholic. I never usually drink on a school night.

“You’re angry with me?”

I take a sip, still standing with my back to him.

“Is this about last night?”

I spin toward him, all systems firing. “What could I possibly be pissed about, Sebastian?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who offered…” He cuts himself off.

“Offered my services?” I ask. “Is that what you were going to say.”

“No,” he says too quickly.

“I’m not pissed about last night.” I open the sliding door and walk out to sit on the balcony. He follows me out and sits in the chair beside me.

I stare out over the city as I try to work out what I want to say. I don’t even know.

I’m trying so hard not to be a drama queen, but damn it, I hate feeling like this.

“Why do you do that?” I ask.

“Do what?”

“Sneak out.”

“I don’t want to wake you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

He exhales. “I don’t need—”

“I know,” I cut him off. “You don’t need drama, and you don’t need me, but you like using my body for sex. I get it, Sebastian. You’ve made it more than clear on many occasions.”

“I don’t like your tone.”

“And I don’t like feeling like fucking shit.”

“So don’t.” He shrugs.

I stare at him. “What does that mean?”

“If I make you feel like shit, don’t see me anymore.” He sips his scotch, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Go back to your boyfriend… the football guy.”

My nostrils flare as I struggle with my over active emotions. He really doesn’t care.

“You know what?” I practically spit, losing the last of my patience. “I wish that I stared at him all day waiting for him to look my way. I wish that I picked up his shirt from the floor and inhaled it just so I could smell him. I wish that I stayed awake all night watching him sleep because I thought he was the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen. And most of all, I wish to God that I felt for him what I do for you, Sebastian, because he deserves me.” I angrily wipe the tears from my eyes, embarrassed that I care for him as much as I do.

His eyes hold mine.

“And I hate that you make me needy and whiny because this isn’t who I am. The shoe is always on the other foot, and I hate that the person I care for doesn’t give a fuck about me.”

His brow creases. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“What do you want me to do, April?” He stands in an outrage. “Whisk you away for a month in Italy? Follow you around like a puppy? Get on bended knee and propose? I don’t know what preconceived ideas you have on how relationships should be, but I can assure you, I am not about that. And if you’re not happy then don’t put me through your bullshit drama. I won’t fucking put up with it.”

Wow.

I shake of my head with a roll of my eyes.

Typical asshole.

He throws his hands up in the air. “What’s it going to be? You want me as I am or not at all? Because that’s all I’ve got to offer.”

I glare at him.

“Fine.” He slams his drink down on the table so hard that it sloshes all over the sides. “Go back to your boyfriend, because unlike me”—he holds his fingers up to air quote me— “he deserves you.”

He storms out and slams the door behind.

The room falls silent, and I close my eyes in disgust.

Fuck.

The ballroom, now loud and filled with jovial chatter, is host to a charity function for a local hospital.