Page 29 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“I’ve had a tough time of late,” I finally manage.

I think maybe his face softens a little, but all he says is, “Fine.”

My eyes narrow. “What exactly is your problem? Why do you hate me?”

Now it’s his turn to look upset. “Why do you keep assuming that I hate you? Or that I have a problem?” He shakes his head three times, like he’s brushing my absurdities away with each movement. “Is it so hard for you to understand that perhaps my life might also have its challenges? That you might be misreading my reactions, because I’m a mere human and can’t always carefully curate how my face is going to look at any given moment? That maybe I have reasons for my feelings, which I’m equally entitled to?”

“Obviously you’re entitled to your feelings.”

“Then I don’t think we have anything else to discuss.” His eyes are intense on me from across the table.

I blink rapidly. He may claim he doesn’t have a problem, but his behavior is a bit of a head-scratcher. The latte notwithstanding, he’s acting like he detests every second he has to spend in my presence. And it’s pissing me off, so I decide to push his buttons. “Hey, what was up with the party rock earlier?”

He quirks up an eyebrow. “What?”

“The Andrew W.K.” I set my lips in a firm line, trying to look as bitchy as possible.

“Oh, you heard that, did you?”

“Oliver, I think that the baristas in the café next door heard that.”

He shrugs. “I like to listen to music when it’s slow. Helps me focus.” His eyes flick down to the table, where he’s still drawing a line across a divot with his index finger. “Keeps me from thinking too much.”

I choose to ignore the humanity in his statement. He’s got me too riled up to ask what he’s trying not to think about, or if everything’s okay. “Would you even hear a customer if they came in?”

“Sure,” he says noncommittally.

“You didn’t hear me,” I counter.

His mouth tips up. “I don’t need to hear you. I figure you’ll knock a bunch of things over when you want to make your presence known.”

I glare at him. “I could hear your music. I don’t think the WASPs who shop here want to listen to lyrics about jizzing on somebody’s face.”

It’s brief, but I think I catch a blush creep up his cheeks.

He recovers quickly. “I’m going to be honest, I didn’t have you talking about ejaculate on my bingo card for work today.” He leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together behind his head, an amused expression on his face.

Now it’s my turn to blush. “Whatever. It just doesn’t seem appropriate.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you with my music, Ivy.” Oliver smirks in a way that makes me want to slap his stupid face all over again. “What do you like to listen to when you work? Taylor Swift?”

I snort. “Do I look like I listen to Taylor Swift?”

His eyes rove over me as he tips backward in his chair, its two front legs off the ground. “I mean, kind of.”

“Way to reduce me to a stereotype.”

He grins. “Is that a yes, then?”

I sigh without meaning to. “It’s a no. Not that there’s anything wrong with her,” I add quickly, trying to avoid the type of pick-me behavior that drives me insane, “but I actually prefer rock. Usually alt, sometimes classic.”

Oliver’s mouth twists in feigned affront. “Yet you mocked my Andrew W.K.”

“If you must know, I was listening to Jimmy Eat World on the walk over here.”

“What is this, 2004?”

I frown at him. “I like what I like, okay? Also, that’s three years more current than I Get Wet.”