“I told him to go,” I reply. “I don’t mind. Do you mind telling me who the fuck Pilates Paul is?”
“None of your business.” She gestures to the door. “Now . . . good night.”
“Well, that’s not a very nice way to treat your babysitter, is it?”
Her mouth falls open. “You are not my babysitter,” she whispers. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
“Me?” I scoff as I point to my chest. “What did I do?”
“You annoy me,” she snaps as she storms into the kitchen.
I carefully move Patrick and then jump up and follow her. “And why do I annoy you?”
“Go back to your carefree dates, Tristan. Stay the hell away from m
y kids.”
Oh . . . this is about me dating other women.
She opens the refrigerator with force and then pulls out the nearly empty wine bottle and holds it up. Her eyes flicker with rage.
“It was nice . . . actually. Went with the pizza and all that.”
She looks at me deadpan. “You drank my wine?”
“Don’t change the subject. Why does me dating other women annoy you?”
“It doesn’t,” she snaps angrily. “I don’t have time for your shit tonight. Go home.”
I put my hands onto my hips. “I can’t drive. I’ve been drinking.”
“My wine,” she growls.
I cross my arms and look her up and down with a smile. “You’re in a very bad mood. Am I right in assuming Paul from Pilates is responsible?”
“No, you’re not, actually. Tristan Miles is responsible.” She storms out of the room.
My mouth falls open. Of all the nerve. I rush in behind her. She goes to Patrick on the couch. She bends to pick him up in her arms.
“I’ll do it.”
“No.” She slaps me out of the way. “I don’t want you anywhere near my devil children.”
“Oh.” I roll my eyes as she struggles to pick Patrick up. “This is about what I said about the wizard.”
“His name is Harry, and yes, I do take offense to some pompous, spoiled asshole telling me that my children are misbehaved when he knows nothing about what they have been through,” she whispers angrily. “Get out of my way,” she says as she struggles with Patrick’s weight.
I step to the side. “You’re especially bitchy tonight.”
She brushes past me and walks upstairs, and I follow her.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“Following you. What does it look like?”
“I swear to God, Tristan, I’m going to push you down the stairs in a moment. Go home.”
“I see where they get it, Claire.”