A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 31 | basically two confrontation

Gosh!

It was embarrassing.

"Leave this minute, asshole." I scolded and squatted to the floor, keeping my bump out of his sight. "Didn't Tasha teach you about privacy? Can't you spare a few minutes to knock. . . get out now."

Dwain's huge body frame didn't bulge out of the way nor did his tired eyes flicker with remorse as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Supporting his MacBook Pro in one hand and a hot coffee mug in the other, a grin spread on his lips; trusting his tiny black birth mark up.

"Is that supposed to be a greeting Mrs. Horton?" He placed his MacBook Pro and coffee mug on a cupboard close to him, then pleated the sleeves of his blue loose shirt and raised them above his protruding biceps. "Being rude isn't a current courtesy trend a Mrs. Horton would be sporting."

Seriously?

A chuckle escaped my lips in disbelief, and my teeth sunk into my lower lip as I fought the urge to keep cackling.

"Rude? I'm being rude Mr. Horton?"

I hissed and peered at him from beneath my squirming lashes, tightening my lips into a grin as the smug expression on his face switched to a frown.

I struggled with my undies and fitted them in place, smacking their cords around my waist.

A throat noise patted my lips. "If that's the case, then being a hypocrite and a cheat is the new courtesy trend a Mr. Horton should be sporting right?"

Every morsel of disgust towards him smothered my words.

"If you crave to take it that way. . . let it be so." Racking his hand through his messy hair, a smile ghosted on his lips as his biceps creased his shirt, but he chased it away with a quick frown although his hazelnut eyes caved a spark of humor. "It doesn't matter because we are sexy."

"Oh! Wow. . . sexy they are, but Dwain Horton is the only exception with no brain and no self-respect."

I raised my towel and covered my cleavage, clapping my hands, and figuring out my next words. "Your personality is dirt if compared to other Hortons. I didn't know Mr. Hortons bragged for their looks."

If looks could kill, then Dwain's eyes would have murdered me and shoved my cadaver six feet down a cursed graveyard, depositing a large crucifix over my grave, but too bad, looks didn't kill and my quivering lips rather enjoyed the exchange instead of shivering with fear.

Bitter was my words, vengeance was my aim.

"Someone is out of her shell, manning up to me as the little ungrateful lady did at the mall."

He came closer to me and held my chin in a firm grip. "Ironic enough, I missed this side of you, Lisa. I feared you had lost that serpent tongue of yours but trust me your detest comforts me."

He released my chin and plopped himself on the bed.

Maybe his words were meant to break me. . . shocking enough, his first remark seemed to be a compliment, but conflicting enough, how was my detest his comfort or better still Elizabeth's detest?

"Why does my detest comfort you?" I asked.

"Common sense isn't rare in Mrs. Hortons, but since you aren't, a typical Mrs. Horton, ' I will excuse your scarcity of such quality and help you understand. Your detest comforts me because my only love sprung for my only hate, reminding me of my only sin."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means Brielle is coming to help you pack stuff for the honeymoon. We are leaving before the sun sets. Mrs. Horton is time conscious and less talkative. Your lack of understanding proves your scarcity of common sense."