Page 17

“Are youlaughing?” Ella’s angry eyebrow dropped, flattening and taking a whole new line of aggressive positioning.
He ran a hand over his mouth. “No.”
“You are!”
“Come on. You have a paper towel on your tongue.”
“Jerky is disgusting,” she mumbled over the towel.
“Or delicious.” He stepped closer. “I’m a fan of it.”
Pulling the paper away, she folded it neatly into a tiny, compact square before walking to the trash to throw it away. “You’ve developed a few poor eating habits since the last time we crossed paths.”
Last time they crossed paths…That seemed a little harsh, considering their history, but fair. He’d been a dick. He hadn’t meant to be, but now he could see that. Age had given him perspective. Walking—or running—away from her at the shittiest low of their lives had been immature, and if Ella wanted to be a first-class bitch to him, no problem. She could get a couple of solid sucker punches in without his complaint.
“So…” He shifted in his boots, uncomfortable on a dozen levels. “Do you want to head back to the war room?”
She looked around the tiny sitting area and folded back onto the couch. “I like it better in here.”
He blanched. “Youwantto stay in here?”
“Yes.”
“The ladies’ room?”
“Yes.”
“Not where we were?” Because that would be logical, and clearly, Ella had dropped logic from her repertoire when she’d picked up superstardom.
“Really?” She shook her head, eyeballs popping out. “Thewarroom?”
“Yeah.” His skin itched to get out of the bathroom. But, semi-amused, he also wanted to watch the shit show that was this crazy-but-interesting woman he used to know. Maybe that was why she made such a good reality star. He would have to ask Rocco.
Her little nose wrinkled. “I don’t think I like any room called the war room.”
“Huh.” Ironic.
“Huh, what?”
“I likeanyroom called a war room.” Bishop crossed his arms, and they stayed silent, assessing each other for what had to be forever. “All right.” He walked across the tiny sitting area to take a seat, and—shit—unexpectedly, the chair moved, sliding back and forth.A glider. Man, that was kind of sweet.
She giggled, and he jolted his head up to see her watching him check out the side of the chair. “Glides.” He pointed out the obvious.
“It does.”
Yeah, he was going to have to check out the men’s room to see what kind of hidden gems were in there. Maybe it had a foosball table or something. Bishop shifted, trying to stop the chair from moving so much. It was comfortable but not good for authoritative conversations.
He cleared his throat, planted his boots on the ground, and slowed the chair. Time hung, though they were now both on equal footing.
“Can we start over?” he asked.Again.
Ella wasn’t going to give up easily, it seemed. Radio silence came from the pretty girl who had mental breakdowns over jerky.
It wasalmostamusing… if she weren’t so damn crazy. With all of her turtle and air loving, maybe the sun had fried her brain. It had certainly lightened her hair and tanned her shoulders.
They teeter-tottered in a silent showdown. He almost said something again—almost, because even in the quiet, she looked as if she had something she wanted to say, and he was curious about what it might be.
If only she would acknowledge this was a game of who would give in first. If he could get her to say that… But then he would lose, and Bishop O’Kane never lost. That was a fact. Then her lips quirked. Ella was a breath away from giving him the win, and if this arrangement were to work—him watching out for her—there had to be some semblance of respect and give and take between them. There also had to be a winner at the moment. Thoughwhy,he had no idea.