How the Hitman Stole Christmas - Sam Mariano Page 0,85

my phone. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not calling a fucking car. You’re not staying at a hotel by the airport.”

My eyes widen, fury spiking inside me. “You’re not my boss! You don’t get to tell me what to do. You don’t get to decide that.” I make another grab at the phone, but he’s taller than I am, so he easily holds it out of reach. “Jasper, give me the goddamn phone.”

“Why do you want to get a hotel room?” he asks, staring straight at me.

“I just told you—”

He cuts me off. “No, not the bullshit excuse about wanting to be close to the airport. Why do you really want to go to a hotel? Why don’t you want to stay here tonight?”

I sigh heavily, shooting him a look chock-full of annoyance. “I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you. I don’t have to explain myself to you. You and I?” I say gesturing between us. “We’re strangers. We’re nothing to one another. I owe you no explanations, you owe me none. We’ll never see each other again, and I would rather that start tonight than tomorrow.”

Seeing through every bit of my bluster, he asks calmly, “Is it because of last night? I’m sorry for that. I was drunk. It’s not an excuse, but I… let my emotions get the better of me. That won’t happen again.”

His words knock some of the wind from my sails.

It’s easier to be angry than hurt.

I want the shield of anger. I need it. But it’s much easier to be angry when I can tell myself he deceived me on purpose, that he only really wanted a fun week with me, that he never felt for me what I felt for him.

It’s harder when I think that he wanted all of that too, that he really does feel trapped by the life choices he’s made, that he truly wishes things were different so he could keep me.

It’s harder when he tells me he let his emotions get the best of him. That implies I am someone he is emotionally invested in, that he has invested enough in me that when he was drunk and his inhibitions were low, what he wanted the most, what he took even though I fought to stop him… I was what he wanted.

Without the cool barrier of my anger, sadness creeps up on me again. My heart is suddenly heavier, the tear ducts behind my eyes stinging.

I blink, not letting it get any further than that, but my heavy heart still aches.

Since I haven’t said anything, he goes on. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight if you’re more comfortable that way.”

Since I’ve stopped fighting and reaching for it, Jasper hands back my phone.

I take it, but I don’t resume what I was doing before he snatched it. I look down at it and swallow, then I slide the phone back into my purse.

There’s a finality in that decision. It says more than words can, so I don’t bother with many of those. “Okay,” I say softly, not looking at him.

The matter settled, I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. “Decide what you want to do about dinner or I’ll decide for us. I’m gonna go grab my bag.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jasper

As I step outside into the cold, windy late-December weather, I think about not going back in.

I’m standing by my car, ready to retrieve my duffel, but I’m restless as hell. Part of it could be that I’ve been on the road all day, but the other part is I’ve got a girl inside I genuinely like and care about, and I’ve injured her to the point that she doesn’t even want to be in the same room with me.

I probably should’ve let her go to the hotel, get some distance from me like she wanted to. My reaction wasn’t well thought out, but she caught me by surprise. All I knew was I didn’t fucking like what she was saying, that I didn’t want her to go. All I knew was I wanted to spend every last hour together that we could. And, like last night, all I thought about was what I wanted.

Apparently, falling in love turns me into a real bastard.

The decision has already been made, though, so we both might as well just live with it. In the long run, it’ll be better for her to stay here. She may not want to right now, but I know she’s not exactly flush with