“What did you do?” Trevor asked shamelessly, reminding her of the women who gossiped at the beauty salon.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fucked up big time, huh?”
She tilted her head back to glare at the wall, wishing that she could glare at him instead. “I didn’t screw up!”
“Fucked up. I said fucked up,” he sighed heavily as though reminding her of what he’d said somehow pained him.
“Same damn thing,” she said, still glaring.
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it really isn’t.”
She growled. “You know that you’re annoying, right?”
“Yes,” Trevor said, unconcerned.
“You were dropped on your head as a child, weren’t you?”
“Once or twice,” Trevor mused. “Now, you were telling me how you fucked up and got fired,” he prompted.
“No, I wasn’t,” Zoe said, frowning.
“Are you sure? Because I distinctly remember you saying, ‘Let me tell you how I fucked up, Trevor,’ and then stopping only to tell me that I’m the best landlord that you’ve ever had.”
“Oh, yeah, you rock,” she said dryly, her lips twitching despite herself.
“I know,” Trevor said on a long-drawn-out sigh. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. The man truly was arrogant. Not that she could blame him with his chiseled bad-boy good looks, killer green eyes, and a body that didn’t exactly hurt the eyes.
“So?”
“So, what? I’m sleeping. Go away,” Zoe grumbled, not exactly in the mood to recap one of the stupidest things she’d ever done.
“No, you’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“Believe me, I know when you’re sleeping. You snore.”
“No, I don’t!” she snapped in indignation.
She didn’t.
She would know.
He laughed.
The bastard.
“Go away.”
“Can’t,” he simply said. “I still have half a pizza left.”
She groaned. “Look, if I tell you, will you shut up and leave me alone to wallow in self-pity?”
