Chapter 26 Willa #2
Our dates had been amazing. We’d actually talked. He’d revealed the Eng behind the arrogant prince, let me see the wounds on his heart that had never healed. He’d let me glimpse his frustration at his inability to be more than just a figurehead in his kingdom.
But all of that seemed to mean nothing once he was out of Baltimore.
I wanted more. And two weeks of silence had let me know that what I wanted was out of reach as far as Eng was concerned.
It was my own damned fault. Eng was Eng.
And no matter how great the sex was, no matter how much I liked the orc behind the prince, the truth was that I wasn’t worth the effort to him.
I was sick and tired of being not worth the effort.
I should just walk away. Tell him I was done and go home.
But I was pissed, and I wanted him to know exactly why before I walked away.
“You could have called me when the team was on the road.” I tried to keep the hurt from my voice and the words came out stiff and stilted. “But you didn’t call me. Or text me. You didn’t even think about me. You probably didn’t think about me until the second you saw me here in this bar.”
“I did think about you,” he snapped. “Every night I stroked my hand-axe thinking about you. I wanted to come back just so I could have you in my bed again. I want you. I have wanted you for every minute of these two weeks.”
While the idea of him masturbating while thinking about me was gratifying and a turn-on, it wasn’t enough.
“Then why didn’t you call me?”
“I don’t know your phone number. I don’t even know your name.”
That brought me to a dead stop. “You don’t know my last name?”
He waved a hand in the air. “I don’t know any of your names.”
He didn’t know my name? He didn’t know my name?
We’d been having sex for weeks. We’d had actual dates.
It would be bad enough him not knowing my last name after all this time, but he didn’t even know my first name?
What was he calling me when he was wanking off in some Florida motel room?
What did he call me when he mentally thought of me?
Newsflash, Willa: he’s not thinking of you.
I took a deep breath and slowly let it out, resisting the urge to run home and wallow in my pain.
“I gave you my phone number before you left. I wrote it on a sticky and put it on your fridge.” My words were slow and measured and calm. Probably too calm. But Eng was so clueless he didn’t seem to register the danger in that.
The orc frowned. “I don’t know what a stickie is. Or a fridge.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Fridge. Refrigerator. The big fucking box in your fucking kitchen where you keep food cold so it doesn’t spoil before you eat it. I wrote my number on a piece of paper and put it on the fridge.”
“I have not seen this fridge. I don’t go in the kitchen.”
I stared at him. “How do you not go in the kitchen? It’s right there in your small apartment. Where do you put your milk and eggs and beer if you’re not storing them in the fridge? What are you cooking your food on if you’re not going in the kitchen?”
“I told you that I do not cook. I do not buy milk or eggs or beer to store. If I want beer or food, I go out to a dining establishment and they serve it to me as is proper.”
“You entitled, spoiled brat,” I snapped. “I get that you probably don’t know how to cook, but even a prince should be able to microwave a Hot Pocket or keep beer in his fridge.”
“I have no idea what a Hot Pocket is. It certainly doesn’t sound like something I’d want to eat, or even have on my clothing except during the winter season,” he replied.
“And beer is readily available less than a block away from my hovel, at a place where someone would serve it to me, ice cold and in a frosted glass. Yes, it is inconvenient that no one will bring me whatever I wish to eat or drink, but why would I choose to prepare a beverage for myself when there are people who are happy to do it for me a short distance away?”
I stared at him, astounded that I’d ever slept with this guy let alone thought we might have a future together.
I’d been such an idiot, betrayed once more by my hormones and stupid childish dreams that had no basis in reality.
This guy would probably expect me to be the one delivering beer and food to him, waiting on him hand and foot when I wasn’t fucking his brains out.
Fucking his brains out sounded amazing. Waiting on him hand and foot, not so much.
“So you never got my note?” Damn it, why was I focusing on the note instead of just giving him his walking papers?
“No.”
“And you couldn’t ask Ozar to ask Jordan for my number?” Because if he’d truly given a crap about me, he would have at least done that.
“Ozar and I are not friends. I will not ask him for anything.”
I rolled my eyes. “And you honestly don’t know my name?”
He shrugged. “You never told me.”
Fury flared once more inside me. “I did. We both introduced ourselves here that first night we met.”
He’d not been paying attention because he was a total asshole. We’d been fucking on a regular basis. He’d been masturbating to thoughts of me for weeks, and the jerk didn’t even know my name.
“What is your name?” For the first time tonight, the orc actually looked uncomfortable, embarrassed even.
I could have told him, but I was still mad.
I was even more angry than I’d been before.
I wanted him. I wanted him so much and part of me was desperately trying to think of a way to excuse his behavior without feeling like I was backing down on everything I’d promised myself I’d require in a life-partner.
“If you want to know my name, ask someone.” I pulled away from him and took a step backward. “Then find some other girl to take home tonight, because it’s not going to me.”