I knew the moment she seemed resolved to her fate. Her shoulders dropped, her hands fell listlessly to her sides, and her feet twisted fully until she was facing me. “Sorry. I really am. Someone told me to clean your bathroom and grab the towels from your hamper. I didn’t know you were in there.”
“You say sorry a lot,” I said smoothly.
Seemingly catching herself, her breath stuck in her throat, and her eyes closed as though it were the safer option. “I do that when I don’t know what else to say. I understood you were busy. I was just doing as I was asked before I tackled the last communal bathroom. I was going to start another load of laundry before I left for the night.”
Her eyes opened and met mine.
“I can’t imagine you never knowing what to say. Your snark usually rolls off the tongue without much thought around me.” My feet shuffled wider apart as I squeezed my arms tighter across my chest and tensed my jaw.
She paused again. “I got the sense you didn’t appreciate that too much. I understand I have the tendency to be cynical and sarcastic. I also understand that I’m just digging a hole for myself every time I let my mouth run ahead of my brain.”
“Saves me a job, I guess.”
The color drained from her face. She knew exactly what I’d just said and the intonation behind it. “That’s what I’m trying to avoid, Mr. Tucker.”
“Mr. Tucker?” I smirked, raising a brow in her direction. “One mention of me burying you and now I’m Mr. Tucker? I could have saved myself fifty bucks on Friday night if I’d known.”
Both of her hands moved to her forehead, pushing the stray strands of hair back, the tendrils damp from sweat. She looked tired, mentally and physically. “I don’t know how to address you. Sir? Drew? Mr. Tucker? Fu—” She went quiet, biting her bottom lip.
My other brow rose to meet its neighbor as I tilted my head to one side and huffed out a laugh.
“The last man who called me fucker regretted it. Don’t go there, darlin’.” Dropping my arms down by my sides, I exposed the tattoos across my chest and shoved my hands deep into my pockets. “And I’m sure you curse me under your breath as asshole enough already whenever I’m not around.” I sighed much heavier and much louder than I intended to. My body swayed forward as the weight of the room seemed to shift beneath my feet. It was as though the tiredness she was wearing so openly only helped to draw mine out even further. With the effects of the whiskey flowing through my bloodstream, I suddenly just wanted to go to fucking sleep and not wake up for a week. “Call me Drew, Ayda. It’s as simple as that. Drew.”
“I wasn’t…” she shook her head and looked down at her chucks as her hands slid into the back pockets of her jeans. “That wasn’t where my mind went, Drew. I was going to be sarcastic, not rude.”
“Is there really any difference?”
“Well, yes. One was playful and could have made you smile if I knew you a little better. The other, as you just pointed out, would have pissed you off.” Rocking back onher heels before rolling to her toes, she looked up at me, her features devoid of emotion. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, Drew. I’m sure the last thing you needed was some teenager breaking into your place, and I am sorry about that, so while I’m here, I will try and be civil.”
I started moving without much thought, taking steps closer towards her. Considering how obvious her hatred for me was, her first comment about making me smile surprised me more than anything else she could have thrown my way. Stopping far enough away from her that she wouldn’t feel too intimidated, I curled my shoulders in and dug my fists deeper into my pockets.
“You're quite the confusing creature, Ayda Hanagan.”
“Me?” she asked, an incredulous look flashing before she looked down at her hands again.
“You.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m the bleakest person around. I’m an open book.”
“Is that really how you see yourself?” I asked, my eyes narrowing down on hers, searching for answers to questions I wasn’t even aware I wanted to ask.
“You said it best at the diner. Work, sleep, repeat. That’s a pretty apt description of my life for the last three years.” She held up her hand and shook her head. “I’m not throwing myself a pity party. I’m just giving the facts.”
“Hmmm,” I moaned quietly in the back of my throat, unable to say what I really wanted to say to her. Who was I to try and light a fire under this girl’s ass when I could barely reach around to light a fire under my own? “And are you happy?”
“Tate is. That’s all that matters.”
“Which is the reason why you’re here trying to be civil…”
“Mostly, yes. He has to be my priority. When he’s eighteen, I may start to re-evaluate.”
It was tempting to carry on down this line of questioning, especially when she was working hard on being polite and actually answering my crap without trying to throw any sarcasm into the mix.
“You can get your things now. I’m sure you have work to do,” I whispered down at her, my eyes locking on the blue of hers. It was a shame she fell into the category she did. In any other circumstance, I would be undressing her with one look alone and imagining all the positions I could get her into before the night was out.
“Message received loud and clear,” she said quietly, stepping around me and heading toward the bathroom.
My chin dropped down to my chest and I took a moment to close my eyes and chastise myself for being the asshole she had me pegged as. I could hear her scurrying around in there. I could hear the shuffling of her feet, the heavy breaths she probably didn’t know I was noticing, the clattering of her cleaning stuff and the way she banged into the sink again and tried to cover it up. All the noise had me looking over my shoulder as I waited for her to reappear.
