“It’s Scarlett,” she mocks me.
I have to pull her off my cock because she’s still going at it and she loves it just as much as I do. But I need a breather and we need to talk.
She lays down beside me, and we’re both quiet and I’m thinking about what I want to do with her today. She apparently is thinking how to ruin this.
“So, we’re even now, right?”
“What?” I pull my arm off my face and glance over at her.
“I made you feel good. So we’re even.”
“Don’t ye ever just give it a fecking rest?” I ask her.
She glares at me and covers up her tits, and this is all wrong.
“I don’t like to owe anyone anything.”
“For fucks sake,” I growl under my breath. “Can ye please dispense with the bleeding bullshit? Just for five minutes, Scarlett. This was not a goddamn tit for tat.”
“You’re right.” She bolts up and starts gathering up her clothes. “It was nothing.”
She looks me in the eye then, goading me.
“Even less than nothing,” she clarifies. “Because I’d have to care for it to be something. And as you already know, I just have this thing where… well I really don’t give a fuck. About anyone.”
“That’s how ye want to play it?” I ask.
I’m exhausted with this game, and when she pulls shite like this, it’s hard not to be. She’s always pushing me away. Always trying to cut me and make me bleed. She’s so quick to draw her weapons, and the most dangerous one is always her tongue.
But then I take one look at her, and I know that I’ll always play this game with her.
Because I do care.
And Scarlett needs someone to care about her. For at least once in her life.
Sixteen
Scarlett
Put on your boxing gloves, sports fans. Looks like there’s another contender.
Conor givesme a lift home at Rory’s insistence.
He’s quiet and broody which suits me just fine. Don’t know what I ever did to offend his delicate sensibilities but I don’t really give a fuck either.
When he pulls up to my apartment building, I make a mad dash for it because all I wanted was a ride and not an attitude. But Conor follows me up the stairs- uninvited- and I’m already annoyed and why the hell is he still here?
“I don’t need an escort,” I tell him.
“Saint doesn’t want you going in to the apartment alone,” he says. “I’ve got orders, and I’m going to follow them, whether you like it or not.”
The way he says he’s got orders makes him sound like he’s about to invade the Middle East. And I want to tell him if he wants to enlist, all he had to do was say so. But one look at him and I know Conor couldn’t handle my war.
“What are you going to do?” I ask. “Protect me from the big bad wolf?”
“You really are a bitch,” he mutters.
Words are just words and sticks and stones and all that, but it bothers me that he thinks so because I am a bitch but he doesn’t need to say it.
