Sparrow - L.J. Shen Page 0,34
gaze back on the road. “Because you agreed to have dinner with me.”
I blew some air out of my lungs, rubbing my bare arms. He noticed and turned on the heater. Sadly, it was the nicest thing he’d ever done for me.
“Okay, you’re right. I have a suggestion I need to run by you.” My voice was thick.
“Later,” Brennan said, and I decided not to push for now.
As the silence stretched. I adjusted my dress, pried at the high heels that felt too tight.
“How’s your foot tonight?” he suddenly asked.
“Better,” I answered automatically, then bit my inner cheek once I realized what I’d done. Shit.
I was collecting shit-moments by the second this evening.
His lips pressed together in a thin line. “I’m a lot of bad things, but an idiot is not one of them. I figured you cut yourself on our wedding night to avoid consummating our marriage. You wearing my socks, and the blood I found on my razor was a big fucking clue. I’m not a rapist, Sparrow.”
Feeling my cheeks heat, I rubbed my forehead. “With all due respect, Brennan, with your track record, I decided it was better to be safe than sorry.”
“My track record?” He hissed out a breath. “Please educate me on what the fuck you’re talking about? And quit calling me Brennan. I’m your husband, not your boss.”
I needed to backpedal my last remark. What was I supposed to answer? Everyone knows you killed Billy Crupti? People say you break bones for a living? You make my knees weak with fear?
“My point is,” I said, “intimidating a woman with sex is disgusting. I didn’t want you to touch me.” I folded my arms over my chest, trying to catch my breath again.
That was my constant physical state around this man. I could run for hours on end and sing simultaneously without missing a note, but I couldn’t, for the life of me, talk to him for a few seconds without feeling like I needed an inhaler.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Red. But if I recall, on our wedding night you creamed my boxers like they were a fucking birthday cake.”
This man was so disgusting sometimes the need to hurt him overwhelmed me.
“Thanks for the poetic analogy. And still, I don’t want to have sex with you.”
“Yes, you do.” His lips curved seductively, his eyes still narrowed on the car in front of us. “Your eyes wander to my morning wood. You grind yourself against me when given the opportunity. Your nipples were so hard when I sucked on your blood, they almost cut through your shirt.” His right hand traveled from the gearbox, hovering over my thigh, but never touching. “And you kissed me last night and moaned my name. You.”
Damn, it was hot. I could feel the warmth of his skin, even through the dress’s fabric.
“You’re ripe, Red. And you want to have sex. It’s just a shame you want to have it with a man you hate.”
I shook my head. “Unbelievable.”
He shrugged, holding the steering wheel in one hand and drumming on the gearbox with the other, moving away from my thigh. “Love and hate are similar in a lot of ways.”
“Is there a way to love you away from me?” I snapped.
“No, but you could hate-fuck me all you want.”
I flushed lobster red, a jolt of warmth finding its way to my groin. Troy Brennan was perfectly content with talking dirty, whereas I was embarrassed at simply thinking about sex. Yet again, he had the upper hand.
I stretched, straightening my spine, wishing we weren’t in the middle of the traffic jam from hell. I had a feeling we weren’t going to make it to the restaurant even if he made reservations for nine o’clock.
I changed the subject. “We’re going to miss our reservation with this traffic. Maybe we should just forget dinner.” The less time together, the better.
“I don’t need reservations. I own the place. They’ll serve us at four in the morning if that’s what I feel like.”
Just like that, a gap opened up in the traffic. He sped through a light, and my heart picked up speed, along with the car. We were going to visit Rouge Bis, the restaurant I so desperately wanted to work at. This brought new possibilities and hence new hopefulness to my mood. I perked up in my seat, trying to keep my smile to myself.
Back to plan A.
Back to playing nice.
Back to building bridges.
I decided calling him by his first name would