“
What are people saying about me and Rosie?” Ryder asks, his brows drawn.
I throw one hand up in the air. “Never mind. It’s not like I care, anyway.”
“No, ’course you don’t,” he snaps back.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing, Jemma. Just…go to bed, why don’t you?”
“What, are you my dad now? How about this? I’ll go to bed when I’m ready to go to bed.”
“Wow, that’s real mature.”
“You’re such a jerk, Ryder.”
“A jerk? That’s the best you’ve got? You’re really off your game tonight.”
“You are really getting on my nerves,” I say, my skin flushing hotly.
He just shrugs, looking entirely unmoved. “What else is new? I’ve always gotten on your nerves.”
“Not always,” I say, and my heart catches a little. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing back the memories. When I open them again, he’s still standing there, glowering at me.
“Great, here we go again.” He starts to walk away and then turns back to face me. “You know what? I have no idea what I did to piss you off, but--”
“Seriously?” I sputter. “I’ll give you a hint--eighth grade.”
“You’re mad at me about something I did in eighth grade, Jem? That was four fucking years ago. Whatever it was, why don’t you grow up and get over it?”
“Why don’t you go to hell,” I shoot back.
“I’m leaving now,” he says, turning to stalk away.
“Good!” I shout, tears burning behind my eyelids. “Go. I hate you, Ryder Marsden!”
“Yeah, well…the feeling’s mutual,” he throws back over one shoulder.
Even though I know it’s childish of me, I storm back inside and slam the French doors with as much force as I can muster, nearly rattling them off their hinges.
Charming, right?
”
”