Sandcastle Beach (Matchmaker Bay #3) - Jenny Holiday Page 0,85
to swoop in like that?”
“He was treating you like shit.”
“So? You treat me like shit.” She regretted it as soon as it was out of her mouth, before the wince the vicious accusation triggered on his face. Her mind flashed back to that day at the dunk tank, when he’d steadied her as she was falling. Then to when he’d added her wine for intermission to his wholesale order.
“Okay, one, I do not treat you like shit. Defending myself against your relentless attacks is not the same as treating you like shit.”
He was right. But she couldn’t quite make herself retract her previous statement. She was still angry. What if he’d driven off Holden? What if Holden was so pissed—angry-pissed and/or drunk-pissed—that he couldn’t or wouldn’t do tomorrow’s show? Maya had never canceled a play, not since that first, ill-fated one, and she wasn’t about to start now. Especially on account of him. Again. “And what’s number two in your little speech?” What could he possibly say that would make this better?
He was looking around the bar instead of at her, which made her do the same. They had an audience—not the good kind. Everyone was staring at them. And it was quiet, except for the music coming from the jukebox.
Ben reached for her but his hand stopped an inch before it landed on her arm, and he sort of zoomed it out in front of him before retracting it. He could hardly take her by the arm when he’d just come out swinging because Holden had done that. The resulting arm flail made him look like he was doing a very bad modern dance.
It took some of the fight out of her, and when he jerked his head indicating he wanted her to follow him, she was inclined to go. His earlier statement implied he had more to say. She wanted to know what it was.
So she followed him to the kitchen, goose bumps rising like they were back in the dunk tank.
“Two,” he said, whirling on her, “if I treat you like shit, which I don’t, it’s because treating you like shit is my job. Not Holden Hampshire’s.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. That was a ridiculous argument. Her amusement annoyed him, though. He scowled and advanced on her.
“So,” she said, still chuckling, “if you treat me like shit—”
“Which I don’t.” He punctuated the “don’t” by pressing his palm against the wall next to her head. That stopped her laughter.
“Hypothetically,” she squeaked. Squeaking was not a good look here. She made a concerted effort to lower her voice even as the goose bumps spread. “Run with me here. If you”—she poked his chest with her index finger—“treat me like shit, it means you have that market cornered? That’s what you’re saying? No one else is allowed to? You”—she poked again—“were protecting your turf, so to speak?”
“Exactly,” he snapped, wrapping his other hand around her extended finger and moving it away from his chest. He had done that move before—interrupting a poke by physically removing her finger. It annoyed her. “Except I don’t treat you like shit,” he added.
He was so annoying.
Also annoying? The way her nipples had hardened into stiff little nubs. The way her breath got shaky as he rotated the hand that was holding her finger, pried the rest of her fingers open, and laced his through hers.
The way, as he moved their joined hands to the wall on the other side of her head, she knew what was going to happen next.
The way she allowed herself to remain caged in, one arm pinned to the wall, like this was normal. Like this was something they did.
In the movies they would have gone from yelling at each other to making out in a matter of seconds. But she knew instinctively that wasn’t how they rolled. Their feud was a large, long-standing, heavy thing. Slow to turn. Like a warship retreating.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, even though she knew exactly what he was doing.
He dipped his head so their faces were inches apart. “I’m going to kiss you.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s a thing we do now, I think?”
It was a question, and though he moved even closer—she could feel his breath against her lips—he was waiting for her to answer it.
“Yeah,” she breathed. “I guess it is.”
This time, she vowed as his lips came down on hers, she wasn’t going to freak out and pull away. She was going to…see what happened.