Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 134045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
I nodded slowly. “I’m aware, which is why I’m putting it back.”
“Thirty bucks, it’s not expensive.”
I gritted my teeth, shame embodied in the heat and I was sure the redness in my cheeks. Again, like his comment about my face, there was no malice or judgment in the words, but it sparked malice and judgement that I harbored for myself.
“Yes,” I said through my gritted teeth. “Thirty bucks, three times is ninety. Considering I’ll personally only drink about two glasses because I’m a lightweight and because I don’t feel comfortable having anything more when I’m taking care of my son, and that Eliza and Karen will likely bring their own because they’re wine snobs. Rosie has already informed me—by text, even though I never gave her my number—that she’s bringing the makings for margaritas, which I don’t drink, so unless any of you big badasses prefer a full-bodied red then two and a third of these thirty-dollar bottles are going to waste,” I said, expelling a breath after I spoke, because I’d all but spewed those words out while forgetting to breathe. And I still wasn’t done.
“Furthermore, I’m a single mom on a waitress’s salary with a hefty bill to a fancy security company on my horizon,” I continued. “I’m not spending a hundred bucks on something that is completely unnecessary and selfish.”
Lance didn’t speak after my little monologue, nor did he let go of my wrist, the grip only tightened as I got more steam to continue ranting.
I bit the inside of my lip in order to keep staring at him without looking away or blinking, he was obviously trying to have some sort of stare contest with me to establish his dominance.
For whatever reason, I was going to fight.
I didn’t fight when my husband yelled at me, called me a whore for wearing cutoffs to a Fourth of July barbeque, when he hit me after we got home from that barbeque or when he forced himself on me later that night.
But I was fighting a relative—albeit one I had a totally inappropriate crush on— stranger in the middle of a grocery store over wine, of all things.
It seemed that Lance awakened something inside of me, other than word vomit and butt sweat.
So I didn’t back down.
In no world did I think I would win a staring contest with anyone. I lost against Nathan on an almost daily basis. But something in me broke, right there in the wine aisle, I’m not quite sure what. The events of the past few days, the exhaustion of the past few years got to me in a way that gave me strength enough to win a staring contest with a badass who looked like he waterboarded infidels for a living.
His grip left my hand and like last time, I felt an emptiness without his touch that made no sense and that definitely wasn’t sane.
I was about to do an inward victory dance when the bottle of wine was snatched out of my loosened grip and placed not at all gently back into the cart.
“You’re not spendin’ a hundred bucks on the wine,” he said, all but barking at me. “I am.”
And before I could argue about how this was so not going to happen, he turned on his heel and pushed the cart away from me and the wine and toward the cash register.
Again, I lagged because I was kind of stunned, tired from everything I’d just said, angry, confused and turned on.
This meant by the time I found him, half of the cart was already unloaded and he was standing in front of the card machine like some kind of Greek statue.
I glared at him and pushed my way forward to the screen, schooling my reaction so my shock didn’t show at the total of only half of the items.
“I’m paying,” I said through gritted teeth, rifling through my purse for my wallet.
“You’re not,” he replied, not looking at me, his voice frustratingly even.
I took a breath, smiled fakely at the cashier who was staring between us with ill-concealed interest.
“This is food that will feed my guests,” I said, still rifling. How did he find my keys, which were comparatively tiny, when I couldn’t seem to locate my frickin’ wallet?
He had some kind of magical power over women and their purses.
It was the only logical solution.
“This food is for my guests, as a thank you for doing everything that they’ve done for me and Nathan,” I continued, glaring at him. “You are a guest. So let me thank you and stop being such an asshole.”
He raised his brow. “You’re thankin’ me and calling me an asshole in the same sentence?” he asked with an annoyingly even cadence to his voice.
I glared at him, finally finding my wallet in time for the cashier to scan the last of the items. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Now move out of the way.”