“Sure you would.”
My face heats, as I have the horrible certainty that he doesn’t believe me. “I’m sure Kat doesn’t want me hanging around over Thanksgiving.”
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze bores into me and goose bumps chase along my arms.
“Kat won’t be here.”
Does he mean he’ll be alone? Is that why he asked me to stay? Warmth floods through me. No one should spend Thanksgiving on their own, and there’s nothing I’d love more than to be with him over the holiday.
“Why don’t you join me at my parents’ house? It won’t be a problem.” Except, as my hasty invitation drops like a stone between us, I doubt that’s true and have the terrible fear he knows it, too.
He laughs, but it’s not friendly. “You don’t really believe that.”
I fold my arms across my breasts, no longer comfortable with the fact I’m naked, and I wish I could take back my stupid invitation. What was I thinking?
Except I’m not prepared to back down. “It’ll be fine.”
“The same way it wasfinewhen your mother turned up on Sunday?”
I know it was awkward, but he’s making it sound as though my mom was deliberately rude to him. “It’ll just take a little while for them to get used to it, that’s all.”
“What, that you enjoy a rough biker fuck on weekends?”
For a second I’m speechless.Biker fuck?I know Zach always says what he means, and that’s one of the things I really like about him. But is this really what he thinks about me—about what we have together?
“Of course not. What a stupid thing to say.” Actuallyhurtfulis what I really mean, but if he’s going to be a jerk about it, I don’t want him knowing just how much his comment affects me. Why would he jump to the conclusion I was referring to him, and not the fact my parents need time to realize I’m never going back to Russell?
He links his fingers behind his head and leans back against the refrigerator, as though having excruciating conversations on his kitchen floor, while stark naked, is a common occurrence.
“Not any stupider than you inviting me for Thanksgiving dinner when your prick of an ex is gonna be there. What d’you think we’ll do, princess, fight for your hand over the fucking pumpkin pie?”
I’d forgotten Russell’s still invited, but that irritation pales into insignificance besides Zach’s derisive remark.
“Fight for my hand?” I inject as much scorn as possible into each word, even though inside I’m reeling at how this entire conversation’s gone to hell in the space of five minutes. “We’re having dinner, not a medieval reenactment.”
He shrugs one shoulder, as though I’m not worth the effort of shrugging both. “Whatever. I won’t be there.”
If I had any sense I’d take this as my cue to leave with my dignity intact. He’s obviously seriously pissed that Russell’s going to be at Thanksgiving, but it doesn’t give him the right to be such a dick about it.
“So it’s okay for me to spend the holiday here with you, but you won’t make the effort to spend one day with my family.”
“Why the fuck should I?”
His arrogance is breathtaking. He didn’t even try to deny my accusation. “It’s called compromise, Zach. That’s what people do when they’re in a relationship.”
He laughs, and the sound sends ice through my veins. “I don’t compromise, and I sure as hell don’t do relationships.” He makes the word sound obscene. “You’re a good fuck, Grace, but that’s all.”
It’s as though he physically punches me in the stomach, and it takes everything I have not to double over. A good fuck?That’s it?
There’s the faintest hint of a smile on his face as if he finds this situation amusing, but his eyes are cold. He’s not the guy I spent the last month with, who made me laugh and question my life and gave me the best sex I’ve ever had.
He’s just some guy who took what I offered, and everything I imagined about him having a vulnerable side was just garbage.
I reach across the floor for my bra and put it on without looking at him. My panties and dress are just out of reach, so there’s nothing for it but to stand up and move. I know he’s watching me and I want to sink through the floor, but the sooner I’m dressed the sooner I can get out of here.
Talk about a walk of shame.
My baking things are piled up in the sink, but I’m not sure my pride could hold out for the time it’d take to gather them up, and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break down in front of him.
