“Bianca,” he growls.
“Ear muffs.” I roll my eyes at this sorry excuse for a conversation.
A furrow dents the space between his brows. “They’re not round.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Frustration huffs from me as I examine the triangular shape. “These are for Luna. I’m making a pair for Bandit next.”
“Your horses?”
“Their ears get cold in the winter.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he grumbles.
“Shouldn’t have asked.” I stab the hook through a loop for the next stitch.
Colton doesn’t move from ruining my view. It’s clear he isn’t done being a pain in my ass, but I don’t have to entertain him. Animosity rolls off him in furious waves. The crash against his shallow tolerance makes me edgy. If he doesn’t leave, I’m likely to crawl out of my skin.
“Do you have something else to say, Cowboy?” I force a sweet smile. “Or can I return to pretending you’re not here?”
“How can you do”—he waves from my crochet heap to the television before lifting my headphones—“all of this at once?”
“That’s not for you to worry about. It’s my bubble of chaos and you’re intruding.”
“Don’t you want to go somewhere?” He motions to the splendor of Essen, Germany that waits just beyond the glass.
But I’ve lost interest with him breathing down my neck. “I want to call Paisley.”
“What’s her number?”
My upper lip curls at his smug tone. Such a fucker. I can’t remember my best friend’s digits and he’s rubbing it in my face.
“Ask Brody.” This isn’t the first time I’ve suggested the easy solution.
“He’s busy.” And that’s the typical response I receive in return.
“Can I check my socials?”
“Those accounts are compromised.”
Irritation grates on my last nerve. That’s been his robotic reply whenever I’ve asked. I examine his features for any hint of deception. It seems strange that my entire digital footprint would be impacted after my phone was stolen. Not that I can confirm or deny the claim. Even the Wi-Fi on my Kindle is limited.
“How do you know?”
“Brody told me to keep you offline.”
“And you do whatever he says.”
His nostrils flare. “Yes.”
“Loyal lapdog,” I sigh.
“Just doing my job.”
“Yeah, yeah.” A flick of my wrist dismisses his excuse. “When can we go home? I’m ready for this technology lockdown to be over.”
“Soon.”
“That’s what you always say.”
