Page 20 of The Way We Touch
“I guess they do. You’re practically giving away free food. Who does that?”
“It’s not free food, and it’s not even something everyone will like.” Tilting my head to the side, I give him a saccharine smile. “Would you like a bowl of ghost pepper salsa?”
If only he’d say yes, I’d put the rest of the shavings into his serving myself. I can shred more to infuse the honey tomorrow.
“No, thank you.” He steps to the side, putting his hand on the screen door leading out to the children’s play area. “Can we talk outside?”
“There’s really nothing to say.”
“Please.” It’s more an order than a request, and as much as I want to fight with him, I decide I’ll get this over with and follow him out to the empty playground.
Anyone can see us if they’re interested, but most people are too busy watching the girls dancing or they’re lining up to try the weekly special.
The door closes, and he walks slowly to where the water laps at the little beach. I stop at the jungle gym, studying him in the glow of the restaurant.
Davis Kent is from an old-money family across the bay, and he went to the most expensive private schools. Even though it’s less than twenty miles away, it’s nothing like the small-town community we have here.
I met him the summer after I graduated from college when I worked at the golf club attached to the fancy resort hotel south of town.
He was the golf pro, and one day it was my job to run the beer cart around the course. I’d drive around, stopping to let the golfers purchase drinks or snacks. He caught my eye because he’s tall, fair, and handsome, with a lean physique and polished manners.
I liked that he was refined and smart. I liked that he wasn’t in danger of getting a concussion whenever he played in a tournament. I liked that I never had to worry about him dying a slow, painful death, slowly losing his mind because of all the concussions he’d suffered for his sport.
I didn’t realize I had to worry about him cheating on me.
“What’s it going to take Dylan?” He turns to face me, putting both hands on his waist. “What do you want? Diamonds? A Birkin bag?”
My brow furrows, and I realize how little we have in common. “Are you trying to buy my forgiveness after I caught you sticking your dick in Stephanie Wilcox?”
“It meant nothing to me.” He walks back to where I’m standing and my muscles tense the closer he gets.
“It meant something to me.”
“What? What did it mean? That I was bored? That you’d been out of town or on your period, and we hadn’t had sex in a week?”
“So any time you go more than five days without getting laid, I have to worry you’re going to cheat on me?”
“That’s not the point. The point is, it’s not about us. I was blowing off steam.”
My eyes squeeze shut, and I exhale slowly, centering myself so I’ll stay calm and not kick him in the nuts. Because the truth is, I really don’t care anymore.
Opening my eyes, I’m pleased with how level my voice is. “It was always about us, Davis. It was about us every time you’d scowl when I played with my brothers or when I ran an errand in my bare feet or when I rode my bike to meet you for dinner.”
“Because running around barefoot is dangerous, and I can pick you up for dinner. There’s no reason for you to ride a bike. It’s ridiculous, as is this entire dispute.” His voice actually rises. “Whenever my father took a gentleman’s intermission, my mother would buy a designer gown, and that would be the end of it.”
“I’m not your mother, and I have to get back to work.”
“I’m not finished talking to you.” He grips my upper arm painfully as his voice grows louder.
I jerk it away, and now I’m pissed. “Don’t touch me again. I’m not interested in an intermission. I’m not interested in the full show. It’s over, and you can stop coming here to talk about it. Nothing is going to change. We’re through.”
The muscle in his jaw moves, and he takes a step closer. Anger radiates off him, and for the first time in his presence, a sliver of fear pierces my chest.
I swallow, straightening my spine, not wanting him to think I’m afraid. I can’t imagine he’d be stupid enough to do something with Jack and Garrett around. Even injured, Zane would kick his ass if he dared to hurt me.
“You’re going to regret this, Dylan Bradford.” His chest heaves, and a fleck of spittle hits my cheek.
I wipe it away forcefully. “No, I’m not.”