Page 8 of Sunset Catchers

“Well, that’s on you.”

“It isn’t on me! Have you seen the circumstances? How the hell could I have untangled this situation and came out with any other conclusion?”

And I have really curly hair; I’m very good at untangling.

He doesn’t say anything. Ah! That’s what I thought, jackass.

“For your information, I’m wearing this outfit because I was there to paint a wall for the owner,” he explains.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Plus, I filled up your tank, didn’t I? I didn’t scam you or anything.”

True, but: “Well, you were extremely rude the whole time.” I cross my arms under my breasts, making the top overspill a little from the bodice of my dress. They definitely are more than a handful. Just like me. “Like, two stars on Google reviews with a ‘Guy was a real jerk,’ comment.”

His jaw locks. I hold in my elation. Aww, the poor guy is feeling insulted about a potential fake review about a job he’s not even clocking in for anymore.

This is the moment when he apologizes. I wait with bated breath. Apologies always give me a superiority complex. They release the same hormone in me as when I orgasm.

But no, he does the thing again; he disregards my expectations.

“You sure about that, Princess? If I recall correctly, you did tip me, so my service wasn’t that bad, was it?” He slips his hands into his pockets, where I’m sure my ten-dollar bill is still tucked.

Princess?! Oh—I think not!

The ire blooming over me is a sharp, crimson-red rose. If he thinks I was prickly before, he’ll think I’m downright poisonous next.

“I was just being polite. And you know what, I want my ten dollars back, asshat.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Yeah, no. It’s mine to keep. I earned it fair and square.”

My insides are blazing. My lips part, readying to breathe fire.

Levi, well, sort of looks thrilled to his core?

That’s when we hear Kit shuffling back our way.

Taking a big breath, I wedge in that infuriating strand of hair and train my face into a joyful guise, relaxing my body into a casual posture until there isn’t any clue remaining that I was on the verge of blowing a fuse a few seconds ago.

Levi seems dumbfounded by my quick adjustment of emotions. He should be; it’s one of my preeminent talents. I know it’s a sight to behold, and not in the “Wow, check out that gorgeous view” way. Quite the opposite.

Even my voice is calm and collected when I ask Kit if she needs help with the large tray she is gripping with both hands. Levi is stuck in his stumped contemplation of me.

“Thank you, Winnie. If my grandson could pull his head out of his ass and help his poor grandmother here, that would be great.”

The spell is broken. Levi stops his renewed staring and frowning to grab the tray and place it onto the antique wood table in the middle of the room.

My attention veers away from this infuriating guy and our squabble to take in the tea room, which is a sunroom attached to the back of the house. I’m in awe.

The room is simply but thoughtfully furnished. The main piece consists of a long, rectangle table and dark wood chairs wearing a bright fuchsia velvet fabric. There are two twin vintage golden chandeliers with milk glass flowers hanging from the ceilings. I’m sure they basked in the room in a warm glow when dinner parties extended late into the night, or you know, passed four p.m. in winter.

In the far corner, nestled against the windows: a big round reading chair that could easily sit two people, made of deep pink velvet, its base covered in matching fringes. The perfect throne to read comfortably for hours on hand.

I sort of want to move out of the apartment I share with my best friend to live solely on this velvet chair.