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Ah, Wyatt. I didn’t know he had siblings, but now it’s all starting to make sense. If Wyatt is as close to Chance as I think he is, it makes sense that his siblings would be close to Chance, too.
“Right. I’ll take a beer, then,” Chance says, grabbing a menu from the side table, clearly done with our discussion and abandoning his search for this elusive Trent.
Krissy laughs as she rolls her eyes at him.
I don’t know this woman, but I like her. If she can give Chance sass and he just accepts it, she must be a good person. Or he’s known her too long to continue fighting it.
“Anything for you?” she asks.
“Red wine, please, Krissy. And it’s very nice to meet you.”
“You’ve got it.” She bounces off, leaving me alone with a very broody Chance.
No longer distracted by someone that might be my new friend, I am reminded of the argument we’re having before Krissy came over. Looking at him now, I take pleasure in seeing him look uncomfortable, clearly out of his element. “It’s nice to know you aren’t this miserable around just me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He doesn’t look up from the menu.
“That’s your best friend’s sister, and you treated her horribly.”
He sighs, looking up. “I’ve known her my whole life, Dakota. She knows I’m like this. That was me being nice to her.”
“Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t excuse you from acting like that.” I hold my breath for a moment, letting my mind catch up and my heart rate lower. The last thing I want is to cause another scene in public. People are still gossiping about the blowup at the gala and how we disappeared for the rest of the night. After I’m able to calm my face, I continue. “Did you ever think that maybe the reason you’re in this situation with the sponsors is because you have a hard time treating people with respect? Namely, women.”
“I respect women,” he argues, but doesn’t sound convincing.
“No, you tolerate them, and then only for as long as they can do something for you.” I hold his gaze, noticing the tick in his jaw. I hit a nerve, but I don’t care. He needs to hear what I have to say.
He leans back and motions for me to continue with his hand, as if he’s now entertained by what I may have observed about him in the short time I’ve known him.
“You’re selfish, cold, and arrogant. You’re afraid to get close to anyone because you don’t want to get hurt. You put on this asshole persona because then people will leave you alone and not look too closely. But too late, because I have. I see you, Chance.”
He stares at me for a moment before leaning in, lowering his voice. “Oh yeah? You think you know me so well?” He spits the words at me through gritted teeth. “And what do you see, Dakota?”
“A sad, lonely man who pushes everyone away because he can’t handle letting anyone in. Someone who would rather lose everything than ask for help.”
He remains silent, not taking his eyes off me. The tension between us is so thick I’m surprised all the eyes at the bar aren’t watching us.
“I asked you, didn’t I?” he snarls.
“Only because you had your back against the wall. I bet you would have taken literally any other option if you had one.”
“I have been trying,” he continues, ignoring my jab. “I’ve been doing everything the fucking sponsors want, what I thought you wanted, and it’s not enough.”
“I never asked you for anything after that first night. I never asked for flowers, and I certainly never asked to be treated like one of your buckle bunnies.”
“You weren’t complaining about being treated like them this weekend,” he lowers his voice and stares right at me.
I suck in a breath, the venom in his comment landing right in my heart. Right where I know he intended it to. His eyes are like cold steel as they look into me, his jaw ticking, teeth clenched.
I lean back into the booth, arms crossed as I look away, willing the tears from my eyes. I hate that he brought that up. I hate that he made me feel this way. No matter what is going on between us, I really thought that this weekend was different from the other women. That he meant it that I’m not like them. Now I know it, was all just a lie.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he continues, dropping the stoic look on his face.
I sneak a glance over at him. If I knew him, I would have thought that a hint of regret was in his eyes. But that’s impossible, because I highly doubt Chance Declan feels regret.
“Listen, I’ve never bought anyone flowers, or done half the shit I’ve done for you. And I didn’t mean it about the weekend.”
I scan my eyes over the bar, making sure no one is paying attention to us. I don’t want to be having this conversation with him in the middle of The Lucky Dog. I don’t want to be having this conversation with him at all, but here we are, which means that I need to do damage control for anyone that may have seen us arguing.
