I pull his hand into my lap with more force. “I thought you wanted me to clean these out.”
He grunts, so I take that as a yes.
Using the tweezers, I start carefully removing pieces of drywall. “I’d hate to see what was on the receiving end of this fist.”
That earns me a deep husky laugh. “Yes. I’m sure you would.” He sighs. “Sadly, the wall in my kitchen was the unfortunate casualty to my rage.”
“You should learn to control that rage,” I add as I pick the last scrap of drywall from his knuckle.
“You should learn to control that tongue.” When I look at him there’s a wicked glint in his eye and he’s staring at my mouth.
My skin tingles.
My mouth goes dry.
This guy makes me flustered. I feel like my nerve endings have grown wings and are flapping through my body. I don’t understand why he has to ruin perfectly good conversation with his negativity. Without thinking about it I wet my lips. Then I say, “You’re rude.”
“So I’m rude,” he retorts. “At least I’m not fake about it. At least I own it.”
“I wouldn’t want to own that,” I mutter. “It’s fine to be opinionated, but there are times where you take it too far. Like I’m sure you just did with your sister.” I put peroxide on a cotton ball and take his hand in mine again.
His hand goes rigid.
His whole body tenses.
For some reason I feel like the temperature in the room drops at least ten degrees and I shiver. I peek up up at Sean through my eyelashes, still cleaning the cuts on his knuckles and he’s glaring at me icily. “Don’t pretend you know anything about what just happened between me and my sister.”
“I’m not pretending,” I say matter of factly. “I do know. She told me.”
“She told you,” he scoffs. “A complete stranger?”
“Yes, she told me,” I snap. “A complete stranger.” I lower my voice and try to imitate his, mocking him. “You made her cry, you jerk. I came out to see if she was okay. When people are upset sometimes they just need someone to talk to.” I frown at him. “But I’m sure you wouldn’t know a thing about that.”
At that point, I’ve had it. Here I am, trying to be helpful. Trying to be nice. And he’s trying to be a smart assed prick. I toss his hand back in his lap. “Here. Clean your cuts yourself.”
I go to stand, but he laces his fingers through mine. “Wait.” I sit back down. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I know I can be an ass, but I don’t mean to be. I’m just not used to having conversations with nice women. Or women in general, really.”
My mouth drops open. “You’ve never had a normal conversation with a woman?”
He smirks deviously and his eyes darken. “We don’t talk.” He takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a nanosecond then releases it.
My eyes flit back and forth across his face.
They touch his lips.
His cheeks
His eyes.
Finally I drop my gaze to the cotton in my hand and dab it on his knuckles. I know my cheeks are flushed. My heart is beating so fast. I get what he’s hinting at. He’s referring to being intimate with a woman. Sex is a topic that always makes me uncomfortable. Not just because of my attack, but because I don’t know anything about it because I’ve never had it.
No, I’m not a complete prude. Before my attack I did some messing around with the boyfriend I had for six months. Mostly oral stuff. But it never went any further than that. I think that’s part of the reason why the only real boyfriend I’ve ever had dumped me.
Sure he said, “It’s nothing personal, Lee. I just think we’re going in different directions.” When
really it felt like there was a sign on his forehead that said, this girl doesn’t put out, with an arrow pointing to me.
Most girls would have been upset by that, but surprisingly I wasn’t. I figure that if he couldn’t accept the fact that I wasn’t ready then he wasn’t worth my time. The only thing that upset me was that I wasted six months on the douchebag.