Page 85 of Burning For You

Childish on his part, but he was too worked up to give a damn.

“What is?” she asked.

“What we have. Don’t diminish it. Don’t make it out to be just sex. I thought we talked about that.”

“We did. And I’m not diminishing it. What kind of asshole do you think I am?”

“How many kinds do I get to choose from?”

He turned his head when there was only silence to that question.

“I want to laugh and be hurt at the same time. I’m not sure which one to do.”

“Laugh,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m worked up.”

“You think I’m not?” she asked, getting out of his truck and slamming the door.

He wanted to keep talking but kept his lips sealed as they climbed the stairs to her apartment.

But once they were behind the door, he asked, “What are you worked up about? I thought you’d like that you’re chasing this. Isn’t it giving you inspiration or something for your book?”

“Don’t get snotty with me.”

“That was hardly snotty. That was a legitimate question.”

“With enough snark attached that it’d even make my mother proud.”

Carrie Lancaster sure did love to battle wits with her kids.

“Fine,” he said. “Why are you worked up? Is it because you’ve got to follow rules and you don’t like that? Or having boundaries.”

“Wow, you’re tossing all sorts of things out there. If I wasn’t so hungry and ready to cook dinner, I’d kick your ass out. I might still do it and eat dinner alone.”

He ran his hands through his hair.

Yep, he was being a Class A asshole. He knew it.

One of the kinds he asked her about.

“I want to stay. I was coming here tonight to talk about other things and now this.”

“We’ll get to it all. First this.” She opened her fridge and yanked out the steak and dropped it on the counter with more force than necessary, then drained her potatoes that she hoped were still okay. They were only gone about an hour. “I’ve got another job to do. I have to prioritize things. Despite what you, my family, even this asshole sending me emails thinks, I don’t need the glory or the fame or a job change.”

“Then why do you want to write a book?”

“Wanting to write a book isn’t a career change,” she said quietly. “Would I love it to be? Of course. It’s always been a dream. But I learned a long time ago that my dreams don’t come true.”

He hated that for her.

And he didn’t believe it for a second.

“Really?” he said. “Because from where I’m standing, you landed on your feet pretty damn well. The Lancasters, your work. You made something out of nothing in your eyes.”

“Thanks to you.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

Gratitude sat heavy and uncomfortable in his chest, with him wanting to shove it the fuck out. He wished he’d never let that truth slip out between them, but then again, he’d never been at his best where Skye was concerned.