I didn’t know he would, of course, but he does, and that I care is lame, but it also proves he is paying attention to me.
Rafe’s hard gaze flickers across the table when Sin orders for me, even if it’s just a bottle of water. Sin looks away, not appearing to give a fuck.
“How come you’re not drinking tonight, Sin?” Rafe asks, stretching his arm around my shoulder and regarding Sin congenially.
Sin’s gaze doesn’t leave Rafe’s face, doesn’t even slip in my direction. “Didn’t feel like it.”
Giving me a little squeeze to inexplicably pull me into this conversation, Rafe says, “He gets more sociable when he drinks. Doesn’t just sit here like a fucking wet blanket.”
Sin has maintained a straight face, but now there’s a hint of annoyance brushed across the handsome tapestry of his face.
The weird thing is the instinct that kicks up within me, wanting to defend Sin. Rafe’s words annoy me more than they seem to annoy him. “I have seen Sin drunk,” I state, nodding my head. “He was certainly more… sociable.”
Rafe’s fingers tighten on my shoulder. I should feel bad for intentionally annoying him, but I don’t. He shouldn’t be mean to Sin. I should be mean to Sin, but Rafe doesn’t have a reason to be.
The waitress brings our waters and walks away. I lean forward to uncap mine just as she comes back and stops at the head of our table.
“You.”
That’s not our waitress. I turn my head to investigate the accusing tone and pointed finger of the new woman in a black dress, standing here pointing at Rafe. This one is beautiful, wearing a snug, one-shoulder dress with a pair of tassel earrings swinging out from under her auburn locks. She’s not looking at me, though. She’s looking—and pointing—at Rafe.
His arm drops from its spot behind me and he leans forward. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see you,” she states, glaring at him. “You sent this dress and these earrings to my work. What is wrong with you?”
I sink back in my seat, flummoxed.
“I think the words you’re looking for might be thank you,” he suggests, clearly baffled by her anger.
Her eyes widen at his apparent gall. “Thank you? You got me fired! You sent a present to my place of employment and signed your name to it. I didn’t even know who you were that night, but you damn sure knew that your psycho ex-girlfriend’s father owns the club I worked at.”
“Oh, wow, this is fun,” I mutter. “This is a lot of fun.” Turning to Rafe, I demand, “Is this what your life is like? Is this my life with you? You buy me some books, buy her some clothes, everyone goes home happy. Did you buy our southern belle waitress a present, too? Or do I get to find out about that tomorrow night?”
Holding up a hand to halt my anger, he says, “It’s not like that.”
Ignoring him, I turn to the redhead and gesture to the dress. “When did he send you this present?”
“Today,” she tells me.
I laugh. Then I laugh a little more, because why the fuck not? “Okay.” Grabbing my purse, I slip my phone inside and scoot to the edge of the upholstered seat.
“Laurel, stop,” Rafe says, grabbing my wrist. “This is not what it sounds like.”
“It sounds like after we landed together in Las Vegas this morning, the errand you had to run was buying and delivering a present for another woman. Did I get any of that wrong?”
He pauses. “Not technically.”
I shake my head and scoot out of the booth. “This is not for me. I am not interested in this. Do not want. Unsubscribe. Hell no.”
Rafe should let me go—he should really let me go, because I want to leave. I want to book myself another Uber and go back to the airport. Since I already played that card, he follows me, grabbing my bicep and turning me back around. “Laurel, it is not what it looks like. I didn’t have sex with her. She was just… she was nice to me the other night, and I thought I’d return the favor. Obviously I didn’t think you’d find out about it.”
I turn back to face him, wide-eyed. “That is your defense? Because if I didn’t find out about it, then it would have been fine? Is that the rule? Does that rule go both ways? I assume if you get to do whatever the fuck you want to do as long as you’re discreet, I do, too.”
That last line irritates him. Eyes trained on my face, he leans back a little. “Yeah, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Ripping my arm out of his grip, I fling back, “Maybe I would.”
I’m executing a great storm-off when he grabs me, pushes my back against the wall near