As she looked as his rigid back, she realized that this was the most emotion he'd ever shown her. His posture seemed almost vulnerable, and he wasn't storming out as she'd half-expected that he would. Feeling a sharp need to say something to make it better between them, she cleared her throat and offered him a small olive branch. "I was just going out shopping for a while."
He heard her words. She knew he did because his chest inflated with a deep breath and he stood to his full height. He didn't turn around, he just stood staring down at the table as he asked, "Why didn't you just tell me that? Why didn't you just say so? Why'd you put crazy-shit in my head? What's the big fucking deal?"
His back was rigid, and Angie was held motionless, not knowing what to say that wouldn't expose her feelings. It was way too soon and she was too confused to know exactly what she was feeling, anyway. And what kind of crazy shit had he been thinking? Was he jealous?
When she didn't respond, he ran one hand through his hair and swiped up a sack from her table and turned around. Her nerves took a jolt. Her apartment was always immaculate, and the bag out of place was a discrepancy that had undoubtedly caught his eye. "You've already been shopping," he accused, and Angie felt her breath congeal as she thought of what was in the bag. It would be so much easier if he didn't open it. Could she get that lucky?
She felt the blood drain from her face and son-of-a-bitch, she couldn't stop herself as she looked down at the bag before lifting her eyes to his. Panic was probably written all over her face. It was more than obvious he noticed her damning reaction.
His jaw clenched, his muscles stiffened, and his mouth shot into an unpleasant twist. Dread settling in her stomach, even though she was guilty of nothing, she felt her legs tremble beneath her as he looked down at the bag in his hand and paused. She had one second to try to stop him, and she stepped forward, preparing to swipe the sack from his hands.
But she was too late. He pulled back and upended the bag, the contents, a single rectangular box of condoms, dropping to the carpeted floor. His gaze stayed on the ground for a few seconds too long, as if trying to compute what he was seeing, and then he kicked the box across the room and stared at her with seething accusation.
She had no idea what his reaction would be, but it wasn't the one she anticipated. She thought he'd yell and rage and threaten or possibly, worse. And she was immensely relieved when he did none of those things. But still, sheer horror bled down her spine as he watched her as if he'd just found out that she'd committed a double-murder in cold blood.
And then he simply turned away and stormed across the room, obviously about to walk out of both the door and her life, forever.
Angie panicked. "They're not mine," she screamed at him.
He halted in his tracks and then slowly turned. The look on his face told its own story; he didn't believe her for a second. "Bullshit."
She shook her head. "They're not."
Scalding fury dripped from his eyes. "You fucking somebody else?"
Her breath hitched. "No."
"You expect me to believe that? You've been on the pill for what, a couple of months now? We don't use 'em anymore. Why the fuck would you need condoms?"
The expression on his face was malevolent and it sent a chill through her bloodstream. But she admitted, the box of condoms looked suspicious. Abruptly, she knew she had two choices. She could lose him, or she could tell him the truth. What good would covering for his mother do? The woman was an adult and could do as she pleased. She certainly shouldn't have to answer to her son. If Angie continued to be evasive, nothing good could come from it. He wouldn't believe her, he'd think she was lying, which she was, and there were only two possible outcomes. Either he'd walk out the door and she'd never see him again, or their relationship would become contentious. Horribly so.
She didn't think she could face either outcome right now. She didn't want to lose him this soon; she wasn't ready. She could feel her palms sweating as she made the only mature decision possible. "I can explain, but . . . you're not going to like it."
At the tremor in her voice, he asked again, "Are you fucking someone else?" She shook her head, violently, back and forth. "You planning on fucking someone else?" When she shook her head again, his set features relaxed somewhat, but only minutely.