When I get back to the table after our trip to the bathroom, I find her sitting on her side of the booth, picking her way through a Cobb salad. Even though I’m not hungry, I choke down an order of steak and eggs before taking a picture of my empty plate and sending it to Tess.

Me: Satisfied?

She hit me back a few seconds later.

Tess: You wouldn’t know

how to satisfy a woman if

she came with an owner’s

manual.

Laughing, I look up from my phone to find Henley watching me, an odd expression on her face.

“It’s Tess,” I tell her, flashing her my phone before shoving it back into my pocket even though I know she won’t answer me. She hasn’t said a word to me since she shoved her way out of the crowded bathroom. She’s angry. Probably expects me to offer up some sort of explanation.

I guess being faced with a bunch of women I’ve Gilroyed isn’t really considered an ideal date activity.

What the hell? Like I’m supposed to feel bad for living my life? Trying to move on. Fuck, trying to survive, after what she did to me?

What she keeps doing to me.

I feel something sharp and ugly flare in my chest. I tell myself it’s righteous indignation when really, it reals a whole lot like regret.

Funny how she’s the only person I’ve ever known who can make me feel that way.

Wiping my mouth, I toss my napkin on top of my plate and stand to dig my wallet out of my back pocket, because as it turns out, I am one of those Neanderthals who don’t like women to pay for things. I jerk a few bills free and toss them on the table while glaring at her, daring her to make even one peep of protest over the fact that I’m paying for dinner.

When she doesn’t, I shove my wallet back into my pocket. “I’ll be in the car.”

She still hasn’t said a word.

I wasn’t in the car more than five minutes before I spotted her walking across the parking. By the time she got to the car, I was out of it and had her door open for her. She didn’t even say thank you this time. She just slid past me and into the passenger seat without so much as a glance in my direction like I’m her goddamned chauffer or something.

Which, I guess is what I am.

Because the thought pisses me off and because I’m a total dick, I pull over, parallel parking in front of a shop that looks like it sells women’s clothing.

Five minutes later, I’m back in the car. “They’re not La Perla but they’ll do in a pinch,” I say, tossing a shopping bag into her lap before restarting the car

Turning into a narrow alleyway, I navigate my car over a loose gravel strip with barely an inch to spare on either side before the alley widens on a small dirt lot behind a squat, dingy white building. Squeezing in between a utility truck and a dumpster, I kill the engine. The back door of the bar is open, and a cacophony of sound pours through it. The jukebox playing Fleetwood Mac. The clack of pool balls being chased around a table. Drunken laughter. The shouts and groans of off-track betters watching televised races.

“I’ll wait outside,” I say, splitting a long look between her face and the bag she has clenched in her hand. The fact that I had my face buried in her pussy and her panties wrapped around my cock a few hours ago didn’t seem to faze her but she looks mortified that I actually went into a store and bought her underwear.

I’d be laughing my ass off if I wasn’t so pissed.

I plant myself against the rear fender of my car, arms crossed over my chest, back turned to give her a modicum privacy.

When she appears a few minutes later, she walked toward me, smoothing her skirt down over her hips. “Thank you, Conner,” she says, her tone telling me she’s struggling to hang on to what’s left of her dignity. Knowing that quells my temper, but it doesn’t last. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” She moves past me without looking in my direction. “I just want to—”

I reach out and snag her by her arm, jerking her to a stop before she takes another step.

“You’re not going in there alone.” I laugh because the thought of letting her step one foot into a place like this without me is that ridiculous, and she instantly bristles at the sound.

“I can take care of myself.” She pulls against my grip, but I don’t let her go. All I can think about is that night. Standing in the doorway of her bathroom. Her father passed out on the floor. The way she struggled to help him on her own. The way he shoved her, his filthy hand planted on her face to push her into the toilet.

The way she refused to let me in. Let me help her.

He’s my responsibility. I can do it myself.

“I don’t give a good goddamn what you can do, Daisy,” I tell her, shaking my head. “I made a promise to your brother that I’d see this through.” I force myself to let go of her. “That means I’m going in with you, whether you like it or not.”

She swallows hard, her chest and cheeks flushed with temper. I’m prepared to fight. To toss her over my shoulder and into the backseat of my car if that what it takes but then she gives me a small tip of her chin. “Very well,” she says, the words coming out clipped and tight against the clench of her jaw. “If you insist.”

“Insist?” I push myself out of my lean to tower over her. “You bet your sweet ass I do.” And then I stalk off, leaving her to scramble after me.