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I feel my hands start to curl themselves into fists, so I deliberately flatten them against my thighs, fighting to remain calm.
Ladies never lose their temper.
“Is that so?”
“It is.” Relaxing his grip, he carefully sets the bottle of wine in his hand on the sofa table in front of him. “You’re obviously someone’s dinner guest.” He reaches into his pockets, pulling bottles of Guinness, setting them next to the wine. Lining them up in a row. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just here to deliver beer and tune-up my mother’s car.” He smiles at me, nothing more than a quick, angry flash of teeth. “So, please, feel free to keep pretending I don’t exist.”
It hits me like a punch, my mouth falling open to deny it. To say he’s wrong. Imagining things. That I don’t ignore him.
To keep lying.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Before I can make things worse, Conner’s mom appears in the doorway.
“Conner Jonathan Gilroy.” Like everyone else, she looks at her son like whatever is happening, he’s the one to blame. “What’s happening?” she divides a look between us before looking at her husband for an explanation. When she doesn’t get one, she frowns at Conner’s profile. “What are you—”
“Nothing.” His anger evaporates, and he aims a quick look around the room before focusing on his mom. “Your car in the garage?”
She nods up at him, wiping her hands on a dish towel while shooting me a nervous look. She doesn’t know what’s going on, but she knows enough to know I’m involved.
“I’ll get to it then.” He turns away from me completely to drop a quick kiss on his mom’s cheek before slipping past her, toward the kitchen. A few seconds later the quiet is punctuated by the slam of the back door.