“Do you get some sort of satisfaction from being a bitch? I mean, does it renew your energy source or keep you young? Do you need the negativity to feed whatever demon spawn lives inside of you? Because I’m pretty sure the whole town would pitch in on a GoFundMe for an exorcism.”
Chewed up pretzel dried to dust on her tongue. “Why should I be nice? No one’s nice to me.”
“I don’t know, karma? Did you ever think no one is nice to you because of the way you act?”
“Did you ever think maybe I act this way for a reason?” she snapped.
“And what reason’s that?”
His glare held such challenge she wanted to throw something. She could tell him stories that would make him cry. But she never burdened anyone with the painful truth because people only saw what they wanted to in this town. It was easier for everyone to villainize her and call her difficult or bitchy or any other name they could think of. They got pretty clever over the years, pushing her further and further away, but no one had ever been clever enough to see the truth right before their eyes. They were all blinded by Ward’s bullshit act.
“Maybe I’m just a little more complicated than crumb cake.” She folded the open bag of pretzels shut—no longer hungry.
Giovanni threw his head back and groaned. “I could go for some crumb cake. Does your dad still put some out every day at the store?”
The mention of her father sent a chill back into her bones. “Not anymore.” Not unless he planned to make it himself from now on.
“Damn. Nothin’ beats Ward’s crumb cake.”
“It’s not Ward’s,” she snapped. “I make it.”
“Really?”
Every goddamn day since her mother left.
“Maybe…you could make me some since I’m letting you stay here and all.”
There it was. All of her life, whenever she shared any sort of closeness with a man, they always turned around and expected something in return.
She stood up and tossed the bag of pretzels on the table. “Guess a shitty slice of cake is better than a bear trap,” she snapped and closed herself in the bathroom, away from him.
CHAPTER 7
“What did I say?” Giovanni muttered as the bathroom door slammed. “See, this might be part of the disconnect,” he yelled. “I compliment your crumb cake and you get pissed. That’s a little bit psycho.”
The door opened and he flinched as she hurled something at his face. His hands reflexively shot up and caught…his T-shirt.
“Hope it doesn’t stink like me too much.” She was back in her red dress, shivering and shouldering into her coat.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
Were they finally getting service? “Did you order an Uber?”
“I’ll walk.”
He glanced at her feet, her shoes were peeling apart at the toes. “Erin, knock it off. It’s probably not going to stop snowing until tonight.”
“What do you care?”
She reached for the front door and he bolted out of bed, slamming it shut. What did he care?
“You’ll freeze.” He glanced down her front where her jacket fell open.
The stained, damp dress clung to her skin and her nipples stabbed through the material. He swallowed, once again hating the fact that he found her figure so enticing.
“You don’t have to make me cake. You can stay.”
She growled and rolled her eyes. “My God, you are such an idiot.” She yanked the door and he forced it shut.
“What then? What will it take to make you stay?”
“Why do you care if I stay or go?”
“I don’t. But I don’t want to feel responsible when they find a corpse in a red dress on the side of the road after the snow clears.”
She glared at him, her eyes shot with pink and that damn bruise on her cheek appearing darker by the minute.
“Why won’t you put ice on that?” he snapped. “Is it just another way to make people feel sorry for you?”
She shoved him hard and yanked open the door.
He grabbed her elbow and jerked her back inside, shoving her against the wall and caging her in with his body. “You can’t go!”
“Why?”
His gut hollowed, leaving only the unspoken truth. “Because what if I’m the reason you drove off the road in the first place?”
The room fell silent.
Her gaze darted to the dated carpet and all he could hear over the echo of his words was her unsteady breathing. He held her arm in a tight grip, not bruising, but unbreakable.
“I didn’t mean what I said at the bar,” he rasped, needing her to tell him he hadn’t hurt her. “It was just…a joke.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Erin…” God, he hated knowing what he needed to say. “I’m…sorry.”
He’d humiliated her, but he hadn’t said anything they all weren’t already thinking. “It wasn’t your fault.” She just wanted this excruciating day to end. “The roads were icy. I’d been drinking. I was going too fast.”