I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I don’t pull something.
“Or,” I say evenly, “I’ve been ignoring you, Eric.”
He blinks like I just spoke in French.
“What? Why would you do that, Short Stuff?”
Oh hell no.
“Don’t call me that.”
I always hated it when he called me that. He just waves it off like I’m overreacting.
“You know what this weekend is—the annual dinner for my company. Big deal. Bosses from corporate flying in. I was hoping you’d go with me.”
I stare at him.
“Are you kidding me?”
He shrugs like this is perfectly reasonable.
“We broke up almost three years ago,” I remind him. “Why on earth would I go with you?”
I start to walk away because this conversation is over.
Except Eric never understood the word no.
He grabs my elbow.
Hard.
“Come on, Lar—don’t be like that.”
My skin crawls.
“Let go, Eric.”
“You and I always get along so great. And I really need you to be there for me?—”
“Eric, I said let go.”
I pull back, but he tightens his grip.
And something hot and angry rises in my chest.
“I am not your accessory,” I snap. “Go find someone else to parade around your dinner.”
His jaw tightens.
“You always were too sensitive?—”
The bell over the door chimes again.
And the temperature in the room changes.
I feel it before I see him.
That shift in air.