Page 20 of Tipping Point

“I’m…” I make air quotes. “Not his type.”

He nods.

“I’m sorry.” I lower my voice. “But I don’t know what the fuck that means.”

He blanches. Makes to speak, but I’m angry. I interrupt him before he starts.

“We all know what your type is.”

“What’s that, then?” He looks genuinely interested.

“Dark straight hair, curves, red dress.”

“What?”

“The woman you fucked in Melbourne.”

“I didn’t fuck anyone in Melbourne.”

“The one from the elevator?”

“Inez?” he asks incredulously. “We didn’t fuck.”

“You were practically fucking in the elevator.”

“Okay, this is getting away from me. Let’s leave Inez out of it. I just wanted to say that you misunderstood Rheese’s intentions. I think there’s a pool.”

“What?”

“A bet.” He shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. “I think there’s a bet amongst the guys on who fucks you first.”

It’s like a slap in the face. “What am I, a toy?”

His black eyes flash thunder and he leans in close.

“I never said that.”

I lean in closer. Our faces are inches apart, my voice low and angry. “You’re insinuating it. Like I’m nothing more than a plaything.”

His black eyes narrow and they latch onto mine.

“No.” He says it with finality. His voice brooks no argument.

My throat aches and I lick my lips. He glances down at my mouth, but his eyes flicker back to mine immediately.

I hate it when men make me feel like this. Like everything I have done, worked for, like it’s nothing. Because all I am is a body, a plaything.

It makes me furious.

He can tell.

“I just wanted to tell you that.” He licks his own lips, settles back in his chair, looks away.

“Why?”

“Because you thought I was being a dick for no reason.”

I thought about the girl. “And thinking that would be wrong of me?”