What the bitch had to be pissed about, he did not know.
What he did know was her being pissed made him more pissed.
“Now you’re gonna play that game?” he asked low.
“I’m not playing any game, High,” she snapped, and fuck...
Fuck.
She’d never called him High. Not once when they were together.
Why did that feel like a punch to the gut now?
“Take your champagne and go,” she ordered.
“Get your boys out here to come and get it,” he countered.
“We don’t need it,” she returned, lifting her chin. “I’ll figure something out. Now just take it and go.”
“You talked Tyra into shellin’ out for it, don’t be stupid. It’s here, take it.”
“Regardless of what you think, High, I am not in cahoots with Tyra. She’s in cahoots with some women called Elvira and Lanie. They have the wrong idea. So I’d suggest you get in that truck, take yourself and the champagne back to Tyra, and explain to her that you don’t want to see me as I’ve already explained to her I don’t want to see you.”
“Right,” he sneered. “Like I believe that.”
“I don’t really give a fuck what you believe,” she returned, cold as ice. “But at this moment, I have an event that’s happening in T minus six hours and forty-four minutes, so I also don’t have time for your crap.”
He went from being extremely pissed to being fucking ticked.
“My crap?” he ground out.
“Your...” she leaned toward him, “crap.” She leaned back and continued. “You won’t go, I will.”
And on that, she started to turn.
So High got back into her space, rounding her and stopping close enough to halt her progress.
“Don’t you fuckin’ walk away from me,” he growled.
“Don’t you tell me what to do,” she fired back.
He ignored that and ordered, “Get your boys to come get this shit so I can get gone.”
“You’re so fired up to help the kids at King’s Shelter, you find some guys to help you unload,” she returned.
“Not gonna say it again,” he informed her.
“I’m not either,” she retorted.
“Bitch—” he started on a growl but stopped when she rolled up to her toes so she was an inch from his face and everything about her assaulted him so—fuck him, goddamned weak—he actually couldn’t go on.
“If you call me a bitch one more time, High, I swear to God, you’ll regret it,” she threatened.
“What you gonna do?” he asked cuttingly. “Suck my dick clean off?”
Hurt slashed through her features, reciprocating pain he fucking hated that he felt ripping through his gut, before her eyes fired.
“God, you’re an asshole,” she hissed.
“Bet I get you on your knees and I get my cock in you, one end or the other, you’ll stop thinkin’ that,” he replied.
“That’s never gonna happen again,” she announced acidly.
“Right, like this whole scheme isn’t your play to get more of my cock.” He tipped his head to the side and asked sarcastically, “What happened, baby? The well run dry?”
“Move away,” she demanded.
“You get your boys to unload, fuck your face in the back of my truck,” he offered.
“Move away,” she bit.
He shrugged. “All the same to me, you want me to take your *.”
She again rolled up on her toes. “Move...?away.”
He lifted his brows in false shock. “Up the ass?”
She glared at him, trying to stare him down, entering a new game she couldn’t win.
And she didn’t.
So she tried a different tactic. He knew it when he saw the wet hit her eyes.
Another game she couldn’t win.
“Prettiest crier I ever knew,” he whispered, and heard her breath catch, her gaze turning searching.
Stupid bitch thought she got in there.
But he was not lying. Back in the day, anytime anything moved her to tears, she didn’t ugly cry, getting all red and making faces. She wept like the practiced actress she was.
“Okay, baby,” he kept at her. “I’ll give you what you want since you didn’t get it last time and I know how much you love it. Eat you before I fuck you. Just get your boys to move the fuckin’ booze.”
Her head snapped sharply like he’d struck her and he felt that in his gut too.
“I think I hate you,” she declared, sounding genuinely rocked, not to mention looking the same damned thing.
Good at this.
A master.
“No thinkin’ about it on my part,” he replied.
She sniffed, getting control, then squared her shoulders.
“Fine, High. You win. I’ll ask Scott to round up some boys to unload the truck. Now,” she tipped her head but held his gaze, “will you move out of my way?”
He immediately stepped to the side.
She didn’t hesitate moving her round ass to the door, through it, disappearing in the shadows.
He stood there, looking into those shadows for far too long before he lifted his hand, tore his fingers through his hair, and moved to his truck.
He had eight of the twelve cases out and stacked by the door before the kid came back out with a bud.
They’d barely cleared the last box before he slammed the back down and moved to the cab.
He drove straight to Chaos, parked at the foot of the steps to the office of the garage, got out of his truck, and took the stairs two at a time.
Cherry’s head snapped his way the minute he opened the door.
He saw hope there.
Then he saw her shut it down, assume a neutral expression, and lift her brows.
Oh yeah, he’d been played.
“Everything go okay?” she asked on a small smile.
“Don’t,” he replied, not even having come all the way in, standing in the open door.
This wouldn’t take long but his message would be clear.
She looked uneasy before she asked, “Don’t what?”
“Respect,” he said softly. “You got it, Cherry. You know it. Don’t lose it. Just don’t. Hear?”
She swiveled her chair his way, starting, “High—”
“Don’t,” he repeated. “Hear?”