He grabs the lighter I throw him with ease, a smirk on his face as I turn back to the open door.
“Oh—” I look over my shoulder at him. “Clean your fucking shit. This is our home, not the fucking street.”
Pulling the car key from my back pocket, I power-walk through the rain to where I parked it last night. The spot is empty though. The car’s gone.
I turn to Murphy, and he shrugs at me with a shake of his head.
Fucking arsehole!
Swiping my wet hair from my face, I look back at the empty parking space.
“Where is it?”
“He had it towed back to Ms. Gladstone’s home last night.”
Of course he did.
He’s playing me. Riling me just like he used to do when I refused to date him. Exactly like he riled me into the fencing bout that got him his date.
“Go away, Christopher,” I groan as he stands in front of me, blocking the way out of the fencing room.
I’m sweaty after the bout I just had with one of the girls from my social anthropology course.
“Go out with me.”
“No.” I try to walk around him, but he extends his épée across me. “Move.”
“You know, you should leave the sword fighting for the men.”
“Excuse me?” Stepping back, I scowl at him.
“Leave it to those who do it best.”
Aaaagh, what an arsehole!
“You think you’re so good?”
“I am.”
“You’re an arrogant fool.”
“Fight me,” he smirks.
I’m about to tell him to piss off when he adds, “You win and I’ll leave you alone for good.”
“If you win?”
“When I win, we’ll go on that date you keep saying no to.”
“You’re not winning.”
He laughs.
It wasn’t an easy win, but he took it in the end.
That’s Christopher—he takes what he wants. He doesn’t wait for permission. He doesn’t wait around. He takes by force.
The low growl of his car pauses beside me on the curb, and lowering his window, he looks me up and down.