“These are all good questions,” Chelsea said with a slow, diplomatic edge to her voice. “One could argue that another good question is why you went on a date with that woman?”
I felt like I was about to lose my mind in a violent explosion of expletives. “Seriously? You’re being completely serious right now? You are the one who cornered me into going on the goddamn date in the first place!” I realized I was shouting, which had drawn the looks of a few people passing on the street. Given that it was New York, nobody was interested enough in our drama to stop and listen.
“I screwed up. Okay? I don’t know what was going through my head, but I shouldn’t have done that. And, yeah… I might have made up the thing about the emergency. And yes, I might’ve come from my bed. And I might’ve had to grill Dick to find out where you were.”
“You grilled… dick? What the fuck are you even talking about? Is that some kind of sick innuendo? Did you sleep with someone?”
Chelsea, who had looked like she was on the verge of tears, burst out laughing. “Grilling dick? Do you think that’s what the kids say these days? No. I mean I had to ask your formerly homeless friend, Richard. He also gave me a ride.”
I relaxed. Thinking about her sleeping with someone else, no matter how stupid I’d been to jump to the conclusion, had made me want to break something. What the hell was this woman doing to me?
“You’re an obstinate pain in my ass, and I should fire you.”
Chelsea lifted her chin but didn’t say anything to defend herself.
I felt some of the anger drain out of me. “And it was resourceful. Finding me like you did. Also, the way you pitted Tia against me with the date thing. You’ve got an edge to you that impresses me as much as it pisses me off.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is this the ‘you’re fired’ speech?”
“No. But you did make me leave the restaurant before I got to eat. Now I’m starving. So unless you want it to turn into the ‘you’re fired’ speech, I suggest you contact Dick and get him to take us somewhere I can get a meal.”
She smiled, almost cautiously. “You want to eat a meal with me? Are you going to poison my food when I’m not looking?”
“I never said I want to eat it with you. But I will allow you to eat at the same time as me. I also haven’t decided about the poison yet.”
She clapped her hands and gave me a quick hug. I stood there like an idiot while she pressed her small body to mine, squeezing.
I officially didn’t understand the woman. It wasn’t the first time she’d flipped from looking like she was about to punch me in the face to hugging me, and I had no idea how I was supposed to read it.
Chelsea was a closed book. She was a closed book I happened to have fucked five years ago, but other than that, I had a feeling I didn’t know the first thing about her.
Why did that still bother me so much?
16
Chelsea
Damon sat across from me at an all-night breakfast place. The dominant color scheme seemed to be mustard yellow with a side of depression. I was sure Damon was in his own special hell, especially since his not-so-favorite color was everywhere. But I was starving, and the pile of pancakes in front of me looked like the most delicious thing on Earth. Well, assuming I wasn’t allowed to enter Damon into the contest.
Yes. I was gradually coming to terms with the fact that I was violently, ferociously, unreasonably attracted to the man. I was drawn to him like a fly to the neon blue light. Except I couldn’t even plead ignorance like a fly could.
I knew what was going to happen if I ever managed to get closer to him. I’d float in, eyes wide and brain blasting me with warnings about bad ideas and stupid decisions. Each flap of my stupid little wings would bring me closer, until…
Zap.
That’s what he was. He was a trap in a designer suit. A devil with the face of an angel. Oh, and he was the father of my child.
I dug into my pancakes, drizzled another obscene helping of syrup on top of the stack, and chewed. I decided the whole fatherhood thing could be my excuse. I mean, didn’t I have some sort of maternal duty to really give the guy a chance to prove he was more than Lucifer made flesh?
Damon scowled at his waffles.
“You eat them,” I explained, pantomiming what he should do with his knife and fork.
“I ordered chocolate chip waffles.”
I grinned. “Yeah, I know. You child.”
He glared up at me. “These are blueberry.”
“Want to trade or something? I’ll eat them.”
Damon looked at my plate with disgust. In his defense, I had a stack of about eight pancakes in front of me that were swimming in a shallow pool of syrup. I’d also indiscriminately slathered globs of butter here and there.
“No? Then I guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”
He sighed, grabbed his plate, and walked up to the counter.
I waited for the tongue lashing I knew was about to come. I nearly pressed my fingers in my ears and squeezed my eyes shut, but both actions would’ve reduced the speed I could inhale my pancakes, so I didn’t.
I chewed, eyes wide as I watched the impending explosion.
Damon got a young teenage guy’s attention behind the counter. He was too far for me to actually hear what he was saying, but I was surprised when he didn’t start by throwing fists. Instead, he seemed to be
