Page 38 of If You Claim Me

“I disagree. I think it’s very relevant.”

I throw the question back at her. “Well, what do you want?”

“I asked you first.”

“I want to watch my father lose his mind when he finds out that house is no longer being left to him.” I want him to hurt the way I always do.

“Again, that’s not for you.”

“Yes, it is.” I hate how easily she seems to see through me. “It’s no different than you wanting the financial stability this union provides. Do I need to remind you that it’s the only reason you said yes, Mildred? It has nothing to do with your feelings about me.”

“It does have a lot to do with my feelings about Meems, though, which happen to be connected to you. And honestly, Connor, I don’t know what kind of feelings to have about you. You are clearly loyal to the bone, but you’re not giving me much to work with. If we have to spend the next year together, God willing”—she tugs at the hair tie again—“don’t you think we should at least try being friends?”

“I don’t want to be friends.” I want to kiss her again. I want her to smile at me the way she smiles at Meems. I want her to reach across the table for my hand. I want to get close to her andfeel her body against mine. I want to know who she is behind closed doors. But I definitely don’t want to befriendswith her.

She crosses her arms. “Wow. You are a fucking asshole.”

That presses a wound that’s already split wide today. “This shouldn’t be new information.”

“You’re really setting yourself up for the Dick of the Month award, Connor.”

“Really looking forward to my Dick of the Year trophy when this is all over,” I counter.Fuck. Everything out of my mouth is the wrong thing to say. I can’t afford to have her hate me on top of everything else, but I can’t stop the thorns from pricking her either.

I stop at the light and turn to her again. “You knew what I was like when you agreed to this.”

“Who are you?” she snaps.

“Your worst nightmare and the answer to your problems. It’s a real conundrum, isn’t it?” I fire back.

Her eyes flash. “Where is the Connor who sits beside me at Callie’s games and always has a smile for a little girl who idolizes him, even when the bitchy fucking moms are talking shit?”

The shit-talking is something I’m accustomed to. Frankly, I’d be more surprised if it stopped. “As if I’m going to disappoint a little girl who’s already lost everything.”

She arches a brow.

It dawns on me a second too late that she’s the same, only in woman form.

“What about the Connor Grace I spent Christmas with? Where is the man who dressed up like an elf to make a little girl’s second Christmas without her parents less of a nightmare?”

I’m angry that she’s bringing that up, using that moment of weakness against me. Because that’s what it was. I didn’t want to be alone on Christmas. Not again. My parents had taken my sisters, their husbands, and Meems to Cabo, and I found out from Meems when she asked when I was arriving. They left it tome to tell her I wasn’t, because I hadn’t known they were going. Shortly after that, Roman had sucked me into his holiday plans, along with Mildred. It was the best Christmas I’d had in years. But admitting that is handing her my weakness on a platter.

“That guy isn’t here,” I tell her.

“That’s bullshit, and you’re a liar.” She leans across the center console and shocks the hell out of me when she presses her lips to the edge of my jaw. “Tell that Connor I expect him to come out and play, whether he wants to or not. I’ll walk from here.” She hops out of the car, slamming the door before I can stop her.

CHAPTER 11

DRED

“What are you doing, Ms. Mildred? We have staff ready to help move you in!” Cedrick looks like his head is about to explode. He recoils slightly. “What isthat?”

“Dewey isn’t a that. He’s a majestic and adorable hedgehog.” I hold up the cage. “Dewey, meet Cedrick.” Dewey is curled in a ball, hiding in the corner. He isn’t a fan of car rides. “He’s a little shy. He just needs some time to acclimate.” Like me.

I lean in to kiss Cedrick’s cheek, and Connor’s frown deepens as heat rises in his cheeks. I wish I could see inside his head to understand his reaction. Over the past few days, his text messages have been gentler, less terse.

“Boxes of bricks incoming!” Flip appears, carrying a stack so high his eyes are barely visible.

“Those are my special edition hardbacks.” I couldn’t bear the idea of leaving them behind for an entire year. Or my comfort reads. I have a plethora of both. They’re my literary security blankets.