Page 57 of Dirty Player
“We’ll get to that.” I opened my water and chugged half of it. I was stuck on her ex being an asshole—an asshole that fucked around with another woman and was stupid enough to get caught. Red blurred at the edges of my vision. “Tell me what happened today. Is that why you were irritated when I called?”
“Irritated, pissed, distracted and too busy to handle all this shit on my lap? Yes.”
“Whoa.” I handed her wine back. She was babbling and manic. Maybe the alcohol would settle her down. “Calm down. You eaten dinner yet?”
“No. I ordered pizzas a while ago.”
Pizza and massive carbs would mean a four-hour workout tomorrow instead of three. I didn’t say shit. She looked like she could reach for a butcher’s knife and fling it at the next thing that set her off. It wasn’t going to be me moaning about pizza.
“How about we sit and talk,” I suggested and then opened the door to the freezer. I was helping myself like I lived there and she didn’t say a word. I dug through bags of frozen vegetables until I found an ice pack.
“You’re hurt?” Her eyes jumped and her gaze quickly roamed my body before meeting mine.
“Twisted my ankle. No big deal, I swear.”
Her shoulders slumped a bit and for the first time since I’d arrived, I think she breathed.
I walked to the living room couch and sat down, propping my foot onto a pillow on the coffee table to keep it elevated. Once I was settled, I put my arm on the back of the couch and gestured for her to join me.
I tried not to let it bother me that she sat just out of my reach instead of curled into my side like I wanted.
We’d get there after she bitched about Patrick and after we talked about where I was taking us. She didn’t trust me yet and she shouldn’t. I’d been way too fucking mercurial.
“Talk to me.” I waited for what felt like forever before she began.
Chapter THIRTEEN
SHANNON
I’d been on a rollercoaster all day long. After Oliver’s abrupt departure this morning—not knowing at all where we stood, but feeling like something had shifted between us, something moving past this four-week arrangement we’d agreed on—I’d received a call from Patrick.
The day went downhill from there.
I set my glass of wine down on the table and tucked my feet under me on the couch and faced Oliver.
He’d gestured for me to sit next to him, but I was still too raw, too dizzy to trust his touch.
Now, just out of his reach, I wished there was a way I could move closer without being obvious. I wanted to be closer to him, pressed against his defined chest and enclosed in his sinewy arms.
Under the right circumstances, it would be a safe haven.
I didn’t know if we were there yet, so I held back, trying to be smart.
“Patrick and I lived together,” I started after I tried to piece together the day enough to tell it so it made sense. “But he moved into my apartment. I added his name to the lease after the first year, and I’ve since had my name removed from it, but all the furniture in it is mine. He’s refusing to give me a time that movers can be there to pack it up and move it out here until I agree to see him so he can apologize.”
“He wants you back.”
Oliver’s voice went steely and I sighed. “Yeah.”
“And you want?”
“Gosh.” I shook my head and messed with my hair. “Not that. I think he’s embarrassed and pissed that someone of my caliber of lifestyle walked away from him.”
Oliver’s brows jumped up his forehead.
“I know,” I said as I laughed softly. “His family is really wealthy. Think they might have owned all of the Iowan land at one point, and they’ve sold it off.”
It was an exaggeration, but their wealth overwhelmed me on the best of days. They either currently owned something, or had once owned the land most of the Des Moines area had been built on, not to mention the buildings they owned, too.
