“And if I’m making it my business, Rachel?”
Oh, sweet. He remembered to stop calling me Shel for two seconds.
I ball my fists at my sides, flinging them like rattles as I spit, “Why would you? What gives you the right?”
“Because you’ve always been my business,” he growls.
“You can stop anytime. Jesus!” I hiss. “You certainly didn’t bother until I came home...”
His eyes drop. He’s stone-cold quiet for a moment.
“That was different,” he says softly, dragging a hand through his thick hair.
“Why?”
He clamps his lips together and cuts me in half with those blue knives for eyes. “What do you know about this guy?”
I shake my head again. “I know he asked to take me out like a gentleman, West. Pretty big improvement over the complete turd muffin you’re being right now.”
He snorts.
“What’s it to you? Why do you care, really?” I huff out.
“There’s something off about him. Something not right.” He shakes his head, his face contorting with this pained look like I should just be able to read his jealousy-scrambled brain.
“That’s crazy,” I say slowly. “He’s just a guest here for business. We both happen to be history buffs. And when he actually shuts up for a minute, he’s a pretty nice guy.”
God, why did I slip?
West’s brows punch up and my irritation soars faster than my heart in my throat.
“Is he? Then tell me why he’s hanging around town this long? To comb over a few little garage sales? Come on. You’ve gotta admit it’s more than a little funny, and nobody’s laughing.”
“Here’s what I’ll admit—I can’t believe the way you’re acting. Treating me like I’m still a kid or something.” I reach up, flicking at my hair, a bad habit I’ve had for years when I’m about to lose it.
“If the shoe fits... You’ve always needed help watching your back, Shel.” He swipes at the air, batting at emotions like a pesky fly. “Sometimes you’re too damn big-hearted for your own good. Too trusting. Marty said you almost got mugged a couple times out east.”
My lip trembles.
There might be a shred of truth to his BS, but it’s not like it matters.
I know exactly what it is. I know it so intensely it’s like a spike through my head.
None. Of. His. Stinking. Business.
“Did Marty tell you I took care of myself then, too? I’m a big girl, West. Save your energy on someone who needs saving,” I tell him.
He doesn’t say a word.
He doesn’t need to when that cruel smirk says everything.
Mostly, that he doesn’t believe a single word I say.
Whatever he’s become in our years apart, he’s turned into an expert at pissing me off. So does the fact that I actually hoped he was reacting like this because he’s secretly jealous.
He’s not.
He’s simply playing the older brother role. Only, he’s twisted it into this trash version of the boy who used to keep me safe and make me feel protected.