Page 53 of Her Filthy Grump
“Yes, it did.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Until you acted like an ass this morning. Now, leave me alone. I’m late.”
“Now you’re going out with someone else?”
“What does it matter to you?” Her nostrils flare as she steps back, causing my hands to drop to my sides. “You screwed me last night when you have a family back home in Kansas City.”
“You know I have family back home. What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’re disgusting.”
I jerk backward like she slapped me. Being with me was disgusting? I suck in air, trying to catch my breath. Screw that. “And I’m not fucking someone else’s sloppy seconds.”
“Fuck you.” She grinds out and stomps up the sidewalk.
The door snaps open, and a 5’7” man in his eighties steps out the front door. “About time you got here. I told you to hurry up. Now, I’ve got an erection, and by the time we get to the nursing home, it’ll be gone. Evette’s going to be disappointed.”
“Sorry, Mr. Campos. It couldn’t be helped.” She glares as I stand there with my mouth gaped open. “Some asshole was bothering me.”
The man shifts his attention to me, and he straightens to his full 5’8” height. His eyes move up and down my body. “Do I need to call the police?”
“No.” She shakes her head and grips his arm to help him down the stairs. “But feel free to call the trash collector.”
Fu-u-uck.I close my eyes and fight the urge to bang my head against the pavement. Layla’s the last good woman in the world, and I’ve totally screwed it up. Again.
Fuck. I’m an idiot.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Layla
After I drop Mr. Campos off from his romp at the nursing home, I finally let everything sink in. My head aches from the argument with Kameron.
Why am I worried about it? He’s not who I thought he was, and the person he is–is not someone I want to be around. I pound on the steering wheel and slowly back out of Mr. Campo’s driveway.
My heart hurts as bad as my head, and it’s not listening. I need a distraction. I snap on the radio. For several seconds, I try to find a station that isn’t playing a sappy slow song that rips my guts out. Finally, I settle on a rock station and blast the volume.
I’m only a few blocks from home, so before the song’s over, I’m flipping on the blinker and turning onto my street. The neighborhood’s quiet as darkness falls, and my vehicle is the only one out on the road.
When I approach my driveway, I slam on the brake. Kameron. What’s he doing here? My fingers shake and sweat pops out along my upper back. Who cares why he’s here? Let him say his piece and go.
I press on the gas, slide into the driveway, and put the car into park. There’s no way I’m going to block his exit and give him an excuse to insult me again.
After I slam the door shut, he hops down from the cab of his pickup. “What do you want?”
“I need to apologize.” He moves quickly toward me and stops. Then, he thrusts his hands into his pockets. “I was wrong.”
“Okay.” I glare at him and cross my arms over my chest.I’m not about to fall for your shit. You’re a womanizer.
“Listen.” He glances toward the house. “Can I come in?”
“Fine,” I sigh and drop my arms to my sides. “As long as it gets you gone sooner.” I march to the front door without looking to see if he follows me. I don’t care if he does. I shudder.Yeah. Right. You took one glance at his tight T-shirt and low-hung jeans and nipped out.
Focus. That’s so not important. There’re tons of drool-worthy guys in the world. Except none of the others have given me orgasms.
I yank the door open and move across the room. The more space we have between us, the better off I will be. “What do you need to say?”
“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” He snaps the door shut and paces the floor. “About a lot of things. It was uncalled for to get upset about your date. Even though it wasn’t a date. Fuck. We aren’t together, so you can go out with whomever you want.”
“You’re right about that.” I slap my hands on my hips. “Would you be so gracious if Mr. Campos was forty years younger?”