Nah, she’s not serious. She likes those parts, I tell myself.
I swear my Badger is all but purring with her so close to me.
“Marigold?” Uzzi asks again.
“I’ll be fine, Uncle Uzzi, thank you for checking on me,” she says.
And I feel it like a victory in my soul.
“That’s my girl.”
Chapter 20
Marigold
Sitting in Eb's crazy luxury Mercedes truck while he drives us through what's turning out to be a totally unexpected winter storm would typically be a dream come true.
Like, if this were any other night? I’d be swooning.
Pointing out snow-dusted trees like I’m in a Hallmark movie.
Giggling into my scarf while pretending not to care that the brooding Shifter behind the wheel is devastatingly hot and smells like cedar, clove, and temptation.
But tonight?
My heart is aching.
I stare out the passenger window, pretending to be fascinated by snowflakes, but really, I’m watching the icy swirl of doubt clouding up my insides.
I'm so confused.
“Honey?” he says, gently, his voice so low and careful it hurts more than if he’d yelled. “Marigold, will you talk to me?”
I take a breath. Not a deep one. Just enough to speak without shaking.
“What's there to say?” I begin, and the sadness lacing my voice is so obvious, even I can’t ignore it.
“You got what you wanted and left. It’s a boring story, Eb. Guy gets matched with girl on a dating app. Guy refuses the match. Then, for some reason, he decides to toy with the girl anyway—because she must be desperate enough to be on the app, so hey, why not, right? She must be easy.”
He flinches, but I keep going, bitter now.
Wounded.
“And I guess I was, wasn’t I? I let you in. Flirted. Hell, I dressed up for you. Had sex with you. And then I woke up to an empty bed and nothing but my own damn feelings staring me in the face.”
The silence in the car is deafening.
He's gripping the steering wheel so hard, I can see the whites of his knuckles even in the low dashboard glow.
His jaw is locked, that muscle ticking like a damn time bomb.
And the fact that he isn’t speaking?
Yeah. It makes everything worse.
I wrap my arms around myself and press my back into the seat.
Defensive.
