I scoop up a potato chip and chomp down on it with an exaggerated slowness. When I chance a look his way, his expression is set to murderous glare.
Good.
But I’m not done yet.
I lick my fingers clean of salt. “Bold of you to assumeIfuckedhim. What makes you think I’m not a bottom?”
“Are you?”
That made him think.
“No.”
“And have you fucked him?”
Our eyes lock.
Oh yeah. He’s jealous all right. Not even a little bit. He’s so jealous he can’t even hide it.
“No. I haven’t. We’ve never even been more than passing acquaintances. Anything else?”
He gives a slight shake of his head. “No. No. We should probably go.” He points up.
Dark storm clouds are rolling in.
I growl under my breath.
Je-zus. I cannot keep up with this guy. Did I misread the situation? Did I push him too far? I never know where I stand with him. Despite his obvious jealousy, I thought we were low-key flirting.
But nope, he’s actually pissed.
And that pissesmeoff.
This hot-cold routine is starting to wear thin, and it’s messing with my head. Bristling, I scoop up the plates andgather our stuff, trying to tamp down the irritation growing inside me, not wanting to say or do the wrong thing to set Jackson off.
“Let’s go, then,” I say, rolling the blanket up and tucking it under my armpit.
Maybe a nice long walk so I can clear my head is just the thing I need.
22
Jackson
Thunder rumbles in the distance as angry gray clouds eat up the blue sky. We’re walking in silence. An awkward silence after I insisted Maverick tell me whether or not he’d fucked Ridge and then shut things down when I snapped back to reality after he told me. I got mad at myself.
Mad at myself for asking in the first place.
Then mad at myself for immediately believing him when he said that nothing had happened. Because I don’t deserve Maverick’s honesty. Not when I’m not being completely honest with him.
I was deliberately vague about my reason for punching Ridge. I haven’t told him about my condition. I didn’t tell him Clancy was my grandfather. And I still haven’t told him that my family used to own the rescue center.
I have a feeling I’m not the only one mad at me. The way Maverick packed up our picnic made it pretty clear I’ve managed to upset him as well. Not to mention him walking a few paces ahead of me, not side by side like we were on the way out here. This bodes super well for the next twenty-four hours we’re stuck together.
Can anything else go wrong?
Several minutes pass, and then…a raindrop lands on my arm. Followed by another. And then another.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter. We’ve been walking back for less than an hour. I wasn’t keeping track of how long we hiked for, but at a guess, I’d say we’re not even halfway back yet. “Don’t think we’re going to make it.”
