Page 29 of The Deals We Make

He clinks the rim of his glass to mine, then takes a sip as I revel in the drip of praise he just gave me.

I hate that I do.

The atmosphere is…strained. Like a piece of elastic being stretched to the point you know it’s going to snap and hurt whoever is holding on to it.

Unable to take it, I slug my whiskey and place the glass down on the table. “Thank you for your help today, but I can take it from here.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” he says. And that’s the second time he’s said it. The comparison feels like a cheese grater is being dragged along my skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gestures around the room. “Your mom doesn’t know how to accept help either. You know, I guess I needed to help today. I was curious how you turned out after you left.”

I hate the way he says I left. I want to shout at him.Because they said they would kill you.They didn’t give me a statute of limitations on it. Just that he would die if he ever found out.

“Can’t wait to hear your opinion of me after all this time.”

His eyes narrow. “That stick up your ass has turned into a goddamn pine tree. Needles and all.”

“Fuck you. You have no idea what I’ve?—”

“If you’re about to give me some poor-me sob story about your life, I don’t want to hear it. There’s barely a shred of the girl I knew left in you.”

A small part of me cries out at that. I’m still that girl, looking for someone to love her, looking for someone to put her first. But I’ve built an impenetrable coat of armor to protect her. To shield her from being hurt.

Maybe it hurts even more because he’s the one person who should be able to see through it, and yet…

“Says the nerdy boy I once knew who now walks around with a big bad biker persona. You’ve lost what made you special. And, it’s a good thing I don’t give a shit what you think of me. If you don’t recognize me, you won’t come over here again, and youcan agree to the deal that from here on out, we don’t know each other.”

“Know each other? Cal, we used to know each other better than any other two people possibly could. But of course, you just discard what doesn’t work for you anymore.”

I hate his words.

I hate the fact I watched his lips as he said them with an ache I can’t bring myself to confess.

Breathlessness can be caused by many things. Exercise. Exertion. Panic.

Lust.

I can’t think about why I’m breathing like I just ran a marathon right now.

“What do you know about how to treat people? You didn’t even see my mom suffering and she’s right under your nose, you asshole.”

I don’t realize I’ve walked toward him until he’s gripping my biceps. “I don’t know what kind of life you’ve got wherever you ran to, but it wouldn’t surprise me if you don’t have many friends there either, Calista. Because you’re ice-fucking-cold.”

His words find a way through to my heart. I’ve never had many friends, and he knows it. Another invisible wound that burns like acid. “Then why are you still here?”

“I’ve been asking myself that same fucking question most of this afternoon.”

I don’t know who reaches for whom. I don’t know whether it’s his lips on mine that make me open my mouth to his tongue or the other way around.

All I know is an invisible earthquake shakes the room as I kiss the man I once loved. As I kiss the man I hate. As I kiss the man who showed up for me today, and yet said cruel words that hurt me more.

“Calista,” he groans, as he yanks the elastic from my hair and sinks his hand into it. The other cups my throat, squeezing gently.

This is a really bad idea. But as seconds turn into minutes, I find myself helpless to do anything other than participate in whatever is happening between us.

Because I’m no angel, I’ve kissed a lot of men. But none have kissed me like Tiberius Williams.