“Adoring fan,” I say with a shit-eating grin on my face. Technically, that’s true. She doesn’t need to know the kid is fixated on me because she’s a fan of a commercial I’m in that has nothing to do with rugby. “Why don’t you come back to my place for a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Shifting her body so that she’s as far away from me as humanly possible, Eve looks mortified, like I pulled my cock out right here at the table and peed in her soup.
“Mr. Grimm!”
“Tate,” I correct her. Yet again.
“Mr. Grimm. Clearly you are used to dealing with barely legal groupies who may or may not be of consenting age. I’m not one of them.” Her shrill voice catches the attention of the people at neighboring tables. “And if you think taking me to a second rate baseball game is going to get me out of my pants-–”
“Mom!”
“It’s okay, Gemma,” I hold my hand up to stop the young woman from bringing more attention to us than her mother already has, and speak in a quiet voice. “It’s refreshing to realize,” I continue through a clenched jaw. “That even though I’ve been nothing but cordial to your mother who I haven’t shown the least bit of sexual interest in, the invitation to come back to my place and talk is seen as a nefarious attempt to get her clothes off and do some mattress dancing.”
Silence. Finally. Everyone at the table, maybe even the restaurant is quiet. I did the impossible. I shut the woman up. Releasing a frustrated breath, I flag the waitress over and order a celebratory shot of vodka. I’m not sure if she witnessed the interaction, but my drink is placed in front of me minutes after I order it. I chug the liquid down in one gulp, enjoying the burn in my throat.
Thank fuck this day is coming to an end. I can’t wait to get away from this uptight bitch of a woman. No one has ever pushed my buttons the way she does. So much for being a nice guy. I. Am. Done.
Chapter 11
Eve
Ring, ring. Ring, ring.
The ringing telephone breaks the deafening silence in the house. A house that always felt empty but now feels cold as well. Brandon and I couldn’t agree on colors to paint the rooms, so most have been left with bare white walls.
Ring, ring.
I want to ignore the jolting sound. It’s Tate. I know it is. I stare at the phone intently, like it’s about to do a magic trick. Every cell in my body is tense and rigid. I’m a coward, too nervous to answer.
Ring, ring.
I close my eyes, swallow down the lump in my throat and swipe my finger across the screen, before bringing the phone to my ear.
“Hello.”
“I was out of line last night,” the gruff voice says, adding to my already jittery nerves. “I’m sorry.”
I’m glad he realizes it. The problem is, I deserved his outburst. I acted like an ungrateful bitch when all he deserved was a thank you. I still don’t understand why I allowed jealousy to get the best of me.
There’s a long silence. If not for the sound of his breath crossing over the line, I’d think he hung up on me. He didn’t though, and that’s when I realize the silence holds a plethora of unspoken words. I just wish I could figure out what they are.
“Still there?” He asks, causing my stomach to tumble.
“Yes. Tate, I’m so sorry. You were nothing but kind to me and I attacked you without provocation.” I leave out that I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep because I’m drowning in guilt and embarrassment over my behavior.
