“What did you say?”
“Uh… no, uh… no goddesses. She’s too good for me.”
“Mm-hmm. That’s what I thought you said. I used to play football in college, see.” Fitz taps the side of his head. “Took a couple bad hits to the head. Messes up your brain sometimes, makes you a little violent and crazy. You think you hear things.”
Clive groans when Fitz takes off his foot.
“Stay the fuck away from my girl. She has a number of cafés in the area. Know where they are, because I don’t want you within five blocks of any of them. I’ll know.”
Clive gulps as he scrambles up.
Fitz hands him his flowers. “And next time, I’ll make sure you’re not able to jerk off that tiny little pathetic excuse of a dick.”
I don’t miss the furious look of humiliation and anger Clive throws at me as he leaves.
“And, you.” Fitz turns to snarl at me. “I own your shop. Therefore, I own you. Don’t you fucking forget it.”
The wordfuckin that deep voice? Lord. Help. Me.
For a second, I almost—almost—believe it’s real, that Fitzgerald Svensson isn’t playingsome cruel trick on me.
But of course he is. Fitz is practically licking his chops, pleased. “I like watching them squirm like a plump worm on a hook.”
“Please don’t use that kind of language around me.”
“Worm?”
“Plump,” I hiss out.
He raises an eyebrow at me. I’m angry, overwhelmed, a little embarrassed.
“I don’t need you. I handle my own business,” I snap.
“She does need you,” Carolina says. “We all do.”
“That’s a funny way of saying thank you.” Fitz’s mouth twitches.
“Oh my gosh.” Carolina fans herself.
“I’m assuming behavior like this is why she doesn’t have a boyfriend?” he asks her.
“Yep.” Carolina nods, totally under his spell.
“I don’t have a boyfriend because I am not built for a soft man. I don’t listen, am mean, will talk back, talk shit for fun, and have about five different personalities. All of them bad.” I know I sound shrill. I know I sound mean. But that’s better than flirting, than letting him see I am a teeny-tiny bit attracted to him. “You need to leave.” It’s abrupt.
“Just a word of dating advice,” he says as I point him to the door. “I know this is counterintuitive, but maybe you should raise your standards, Creampuff.”
“Oh, you mean like you?” I spit out.
“I did just save you from getting kidnapped and skinned. Maybe make me a sandwich for my troubles. Add in a free creampuff. Extra plump and gushing.”
The smirk plays on his mouth. I could slap him. Or kiss him.
“I hope you’re not implying things about a woman’s vagina.”
Usually men freeze up when I use the V-word.
Not Fitz.
