Instead of attempting to reclaim my dignity or risk knocking again, I go and stand by her car. Eventually, she’ll have to come out.
Luckily for me, I don’t have to wait long. I’m fairly sure my heartbeat is in my chest when she walks out in a sundress, wearing small heels, and letting her hair fall down to almost reach her shoulders.
I just want to touch her.
“Hey,” I say, grinning as she walks down the sidewalk, and her eyes pop up in surprise to mee
t mine. Then her gaze drops to the roses for a fleeting second before coming back up.
She wants to say yes.
“How’s your hand?” she asks in a near whisper.
“It hurts a little, but there’s no nerve damage. Should get the stitches out soon.”
She nods, not looking at me. I continue speaking while pushing the roses out toward her. “These are for you.”
She doesn’t look up, but she draws a heavy breath. “I have to go,” she says, stepping around me.
“Go where?” I ask, moving faster and blocking her path to her car door.
“I have a date,” she says, still refusing to meet my eyes.
Bile rises to my throat as I numbly move to the side, and I watch as she disappears into her car. This is not how this day was supposed to go.
She pulls out of her spot, and I continue standing and staring. But I can’t take it.
My bike is in my yard, and I drop the roses and rush over to it. In seconds, I’m on the road and following behind her at a safe distance.
When she cuts into a restaurant parking lot, I sit at the curb like a fucking stalker. Christ, she’s destroying my mind. And I think she’s doing it on purpose.
Once she’s inside, I wait. But the waiting is driving me crazy. So after about twenty minutes of torture, I go in. It’s not very crowded, so scanning the tables is easy work. I spot her and the infamous date in a matter of seconds, but she’s not at a table with a young guy. This guy is too fucking old for her. What the hell?
I stalk through the restaurant, ignoring the hostess calling for me to wait, and I move in behind Brin just as the prick from across the table finishes his sentence.
“...You made your bed. Lie in it.” Then he looks up at me as I come to put my hands on either side of the table, caging Brin in with my arms.
“Little old for you, don’t you think?” I ask her, putting my lips close to her ear, but she doesn’t even act surprised. She mutters a few choice words as she turns around to look up at me, forcing me to lean back and tower over her.
“Rye, meet my father,” she hisses, and I might trip backwards—and possibly stumble over two or three chairs.
She stands just as the waitress brings the food, and she rolls her eyes while turning back to her father.
“You’re not going to stay and eat?” he asks her dispassionately.
“Lost my appetite,” she grumbles, and then she starts retreating toward the door.
Her father?
He glares at me and the tattoos on my arms before he rolls his eyes. “Never going to learn,” he mutters under his breath.
I don’t bother saying a word to him. I thought Brin hated her parents. So why is she lying to me about a date and meeting her father?
By the time I reach the outside, she’s already driving away, but she’s not crying. She’s just pissed.
I really know how to fuck up like a pro.
***