***
My big old claw foot tub was the best place in whole wide world. Nothing could compare. Life seemed so much better from within its warm, soapy watery confines. If I ever had to move, it’s what I’d miss the most. I’d been in there, soaking, for a good solid half hour. Frankly, I had no plans to ever get out. I was perfectly content to laze around, staring at the tiles on the wall and thinking of nothing.
Raging, great open seas full of nothing.
Right up until the front door crashed open. I bolted upright, adrenaline pumping through me.
“What the fuck?”
“Anne?” Mal yelled.
Then the bathroom door crashed open too. I grabbed the white towel hanging off the rail overhead, holding it against my chest. Straightaway, the material started soaking up water.
“Anne.” Mal stomped in, electric with rage. It spiked out his hair and darkened his eyes. The bathroom door slammed shut behind him.
“Mal?”
“What is this?” he growled, shoving his cell in my face.
“Um, your phone? What the hell are you doing in here?”
“The fucking texts you’ve been sending me, I mean.”
“What?” I stared at him, flabbergasted. “Get out.”
“No.”
“You want to discuss my texts, you can wait till I’m out of the tub and have some clothes on.”
“We’ll discuss them now.”
For this conversation, I needed armor. The damn towel wasn’t working at all. I crossed my arms over my chest, huddling in on myself. “Those messages are me trying to be friendly after yesterday. You barging in here like this, though? I’m not feeling so friendly anymore. Get the fuck out, Mal.”
“You’re breaking up with me by text.” Not a question, a statement. One that made me just a small part livid, though the crashing of doors and yelling might have played a part in it too.
Was he insane? No, seriously, was he?
“That little asswipe Reece push you into this?”
“No,” I snapped. “Reece has nothing to do with this. And I can’t really be breaking up with you because remember the part where we were never really together? Where it was all fake?”
“It was, huh?” He squatted beside the tub, hands gripping the edge so hard his knuckles whitened.
“Get out.”
“I’m not going anywhere till we talk this out.”
The vestiges of self-pity disappeared, replaced by flat-out rage. How dare he?
“If you want to talk this out, then you might want to stop acting like a dick. Busting in here and yelling at me, accusing me of crap … not smart.”
“That right? Why don’t you tell me what I’m supposed to do since I’m not so smart and all.” He loomed over the side of the tub, eyes bordering on manic. “Tell me how I’m supposed to handle this, Anne. And use small words, okay?”
I tried to sit up, the water sloshing. Could he have picked a more awkward time and place for this? And how had he turned into the victim here?
“I didn’t mean …” I started, but gah, fuck him. If he wanted to get all insulted, he could, with my compliments. I cleared my throat, tried again. “Big picture. You didn’t come home … back here, to the apartment last night. I assume you were with Ainslie. Your friends are probably going to know that, right? So our cover is blown.”
“I wasn’t with Ainslie,” he ground out.
Everything stopped. “You weren’t?”
“No; I played drums till I calmed down, then I did some drinking with the guys. Davie said to give you some time to cool off. I crashed in Ben’s hotel suite.”
“Word to the wise, next time when it comes to us, try talking to me instead of Davie.”
He let out a slow breath. “Okay.”
“You just crashed in Ben’s suite?” This version of reality differed so wildly from the hateful version I’d been playing in my head. It wouldn’t sink in at first.
“Yeah, I did.” His dark green gaze roamed my face. “I didn’t think when Ainslie came up to me after practice. How it would look and everything. Didn’t think at all and then I didn’t handle it right.”
He paused, but I had nothing. It was all I could do not to burst into tears of relief. Not that I was a crier. I’d blame it on PMS but it was nowhere near my time of the month.
“I fucked up and I hurt you,” he said, deflating. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t hurt me.” I held my eyes wide open, trying to keep my shit together. “I mean, it might have been nice if you’d answered one of my texts but … yeah, no, I wasn’t hurt exactly.”
His brows rose and for a moment, he said nothing. “You looked hurt.”
“Well, I wasn’t. I was fine.”
He just watched me.
“Really.”
The smudges were back beneath his eyes. It seemed Mal hadn’t gotten any more sleep last night than I had.
“Everything’s good,” I said, not believing it but hoping he did. Meanwhile, I was still bare-ass naked in the bath, horribly exposed. “Now can you please leave?”
Mal’s brows rose. “You’re alright?”
“Yep. There’s the door.”
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“Noooo.”
“Okay,” he said eventually, thumb rapping out a beat on the edge of the tub. “So the deal is still on and everything’s cool?”
“Sure, I guess so. Why not?” I gave him my very best big, brave smile, clutching the wet towel to my breasts, my knees drawn up to help cover downstairs.
He breathed out hard through his nose, sat back on his heels. This was good. He was accepting it and we were moving on, thank god.
“We’re fine. No worries.”
Then he slowly shook his head. “Christ, Anne. You’re so full of shit I don’t even know what the fuck to say to you right now.”
“What?” My screech bounced off the tiled walls, echoing around us.
“You heard me.”
“But–”