But of course, someone just has to block my path. Of course. Because apparently, the universe is allergic to letting me enjoy anything in peace.
Her big doe eyes and button nose purse into an irritated pout, betraying the insecurity that clings to her every gesture.
Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long. I’ve been here almost an hour. Usually, the territorial strutting kicks off within minutes.
Club bunnies are remarkably predictable creatures.
You’d think after the first time, they’d catch on that they’re background noise to me. You can’t stake a claim on someone who’s already spoken for.
Silly girls.
Her glare is fierce enough to peel paint off the walls.
I tilt my head, examining her like a curious scientist with a new specimen. “Huh.”
Her brows slam together. “What?”
“I think I finally understand why they call you Bambi.” I squint slightly, considering. “When you’re not trying so hard to be ugly, you’re actually really pretty.”
I can almost see the gears in her head screeching to a stop.
Did I insult her?
Did I compliment her?
She short-circuits right before my eyes, poor thing.
She shakes her head, a scowl blooming across her face.
“Why are you always here?” she snaps.
“Um,” I blink, feigning confusion. “Because I’m invited?”
“Everyone feels sorry for you because you were shot last year. That’s all it is.”
A slow, satisfied smile creeps across my lips.
Ah, there it is. Jealousy always wears the same bitter disguise.
“Is it, though?” My voice stays light. “Or is that just what you have to tell yourself because it makes it easier for you to fall asleep at night?”
Her nostrils flare in response to my question.
Cute.
I glance around with practiced nonchalance, a thread of alertness weaving through my amusement. A few people glance over, but no one really cares.
Good. Very good.
The last thing I need is an audience spoiling my grand gift reveal.
I let out an exaggerated sigh and face her again. “Can we just skip this tired little dance?” I wave a hand between us. “You act like you have a claim. I remind you that you don’t. You double down, hoping maybe delusion works if you try hard enough. Then comes the messy part where I accidentally on purpose bruise your ego.” I give her my best sympathetic smile. “That part is honestly my least favorite.”
Her glare sharpens, and I lean in, dropping my voice as if confiding a secret. “It’s really not your fault. Men have this tragic habit of dickmatizing anything that breathes. Nature can be so unkind.”
Her jaw tightens.
Oh, she is absolutely hating every second of this.