“Fuck,” he grunted as he moved toward the barstool next to me and plopped down. Well, at least he sounded like he was in pain. That was something. “My head feels like a goddamn axe is splitting it. Rosy, sweetheart, get me the Advil, would you? And a cup of coffee whileyou’re at it.”
I watched with avid interest from the corner of my eye as Rosita kept her place at the stove with her back to us and said not one word. That was interesting. Usually she was all smiles and mother-hen-style doting when it came to Garrett.
“Rosita,” he called again. “Did you hear me?”
“You want it, you get it yourself,” she replied, swinging her spatula around without turning to face us.
It took every ounce of self-control I had not to burst into laughter.Looks like someone had a chat with Sylvie this morning.
I kept my gaze trained on my Kindle as he stood and moved to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. He chugged half before using the rest to down four painkillers. Rosita began muttering quietly in rapid-fire Spanish as she continued cooking. I wasn’t a hundred percent certain what she was saying, but there were a few words—such asbastardoandpendejo—that I recognized. And judging from the way Garrett’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he looked at her, he understood them too.
“The fuck?” he mumbled under his breath as he went to toss the empty water bottle in the trash. I was too focused on not cracking up at Rosita telling her boss off that I didn’t notice the way Garrett’s entire body locked up when he lifted the lid on the trash can, or the way he froze in place as he stared down at the contents.
That was, until I heard him let out a violent curse. My head shot up at the same time Rosita set the spatula down and moved casually toward the garbage. “Whoops. Forgot to take the trash out this morning. I’ll just do that now,” she said, not sounding the least bit sorry as she shot a catty look in Garrett’s direction. She whistled as she tied off the bag that contained everything I’d cooked the night before and carried it out of the kitchen.
She’d wanted him to see exactly how badly he’d screwed upand make her displeasure at his actions known. I appreciated the solidarity, but I would have rather just forgotten about the disastrous evening altogether. The anger and pain was like a fresh cut that hadn’t had time to scab over.
“Gwen,” Garrett started.
I kept my head down, refusing to face him. “Hmm?”
“Gwen.”
“What, Garrett?” I asked, tapping the screen of my Kindle to turn the page even though I hadn’t read a single word on the one prior.
His voice sounded closer when he asked, “Will you look at me, please?”
With a frustrated huff to cover up the fact that I was hurting, I gave him my eyes. That was a mistake, because the raw regret shining back at me damn near ripped me in two and splintered my resolve.
“I’m sorry,” he offered quietly.
I did my best to fake bravado and shrugged, looking back at my Kindle as I replied, “Whatever. It’s not a big deal.”
The words before me blurred quickly as the Kindle was slid from my eyeline. “Itisa big deal,” he stressed, placing his fingers at my cheek and forcing me to look at him. “I’m sorry. Last night was—”
I hopped off the stool and circled the island to refill my coffee cup, putting some necessary distance between us. “It’s not my business what last night was.”
“Nothing happened.”
I lifted my head from my mug and met his gaze, looking for any signs of deception. There were none to be seen, but my heart wouldn’t trust it while my brain reminded me that Garrett Wilder was a skilled liar and womanizer. “Like I said, not my business. What you do with your free time has nothing to do with me. I couldn’t care less.”
His face turned to granite, his expression like thunder. “That why you trashed everything instead of packing it away?”
My defenses began to rise once again. I couldn’t stand that this man was capable of triggering such an emotional reaction in me. The red flags and warning signs were everywhere, screaming that he was dangerous to my well-being and sanity, but I just couldn’t think rationally when it came to him. I wanted him. I hated him. It was like a war was raging inside of me, and I could do nothing but sit helplessly and wait to see which side came out victorious.
“What do you want me to say, huh?” I shouted, slamming my coffee cup on the counter. Liquid spilled over the rim, leaving a puddle that dripped onto the floor, but I couldn’t find it in me to care about the mess I was making. “I wanted to make things right between us. That’s what last night was about. We’ve been walking on eggshells around each other for weeks, and I’m tired of it. Dinner was my way of trying to apologize because I want to make this work. I don’t want us to fight or act like the other doesn’t exist.” I ran my hands through my hair as exasperation took hold, squeezing my chest. “I don’t want to hate you anymore,” I sighed tiredly. “But it doesn’t matter now. It’s done. Last night wasn’t the first time you showed up high and drunk, reeking of booze and women. Sadly, I’m used to it.”
He moved faster than a man with a hangover had any business moving. I barely had the chance to reinforce my shield before he was cupping both my cheeks in his huge hands. “I swear, baby. Nothing happened. People just started showing up. I didn’t know Mace was gonna throw a party. I didn’t fuckin’ touch anyone. I smoked a little and drank too much, and a couple skanks rubbed up on me, but that’s it. I swear.”
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to so badly, especially when he looked at me and touched me with such sincerity.But a small, nagging voice in the back of my brain wouldn’t shut up. “Garrett, I—”
“Let me make it up to you,” he interrupted, catching me off guard.
“What?”
“I want to make it up to you. You worked so hard, and I fucked it all up because I was pissed off. I want to make it right.”
My phone pinged with a text from inside my purse sitting on the island. Moving away from him, I said, “I have to go,” as I grabbed my bag and hooked it over my shoulder. “That’s Corrine. She’s picking me up to go shopping.”
