Perfect for You

the thing that was driving her right now.
    What was driving her? Fury. Indignation.
    Hurt.
    Underneath it all, there was a smidgeon of love and longing, and that really pissed her off.
    Clack clack clack .
    That was it. She needed to tell Cavanaugh what a jerk he was to his face. She stalked down the stairs, out her front door, and banged on Greg's.
    He opened the door, smiling as though seeing her were an unexpected treat. "Freya."
    All the effort she put into composing herself flew out the window when she saw that smile. "You jerk!" she growled at him.
    She threw herself against him, propelling them onto the floor, and actually managed to pummel him for two seconds before he recovered from his shock and grabbed her wrists. She strained in his hold, trying to twist and kick her way out, but, to her dismay, he reversed their position so he was on top and subdued her flailing limbs with the weight of his body.
    She didn't want to think about his body pressing down on her, but it was damn hard. Literally. Their tussle, or something, had gotten him worked up and she could feel the beginnings of a major hard-on pushing into the vee of her legs.
    "Let me go," she said through gritted teeth.
    "Not until you tell me what's going on."
    Someone cleared her throat.
    They both looked to the stairs.
    His friend Jade stared down at them, an intensely curious expression on her face. "If you guys are going to get it on, I should probably go."
    "Yes." Cavanaugh nodded. "Now."
    "I love you too, darling." She took her time sauntering down the rest of the steps in her high heels and tight skirt. She cocked her eyebrow at them. "Play nicely, children."
    Freya waited until Jade left before she tried to hit Greg again.
    "Hey." He firmed his slackened grip. "Will you tell me what's going on?"
    She stopped struggling, conscious that it was futile with his weight pinning her down, and tried to ignore the usual zinging that being pressed against him caused.
    She glared at him, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. "Get off me."
    He shook his head. "Not unless you promise to calm down."
    "I am calm."
    "Right," he retorted sarcastically. "Promise me you won't hit me."
    She considered that. "Ever?"
    The corners of his mouth kicked up. "Just tonight."
    She glanced at his lips for a moment before she averted her gaze. She had to get him off her before he could beguile her with his charm. She tried prying her wrists free so she could jab him once more before she promised, but he seemed to know what she was thinking. Grudgingly, she acquiesced. "I promise."
    Slowly, he let her go and rolled off her. She breathed a sigh of relief and got up. Watching her warily, he followed her to his feet.
    "I promised I wouldn't hit you again," she bit out, feeling insulted by his mistrusting look. With her head held high and her anger clutched closely to her chest, she stomped up the stairs ahead of him.
    She didn't know what to do with herself when she got to the top so she began to pace again.
    "Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or would you prefer to be left alone to wear a groove in the hardwood floor?"
    Stopping she met his undecipherable expression with a glare. She clenched her fists on her hips and pointed a finger at him. "You scum sucking parasite."
    He strode into the living room and faced her. "That's better than the cold treatment. Now why don't you tell me what's going on so we can get past this and get on to the kissing and making up?"
    "There will be no kissing!" she shrieked. "Not now, not ever!"
    "Why not?"
    "Why not?" She gaped at him. " Why not? Because I will no longer play your games. I am not a toy."
    "Kissing you is not a game," he stated firmly.
    "Right, but everything else was."
    "Why don't you just tell me what's wrong."
    She tilted her head to one side as if she had an idle question. "Do you think I have good birthing hips?"
    His frown deepened. "You have perfect hips, but when I think of them, birthing isn't what comes to mind. Why would I think that?" he asked with a hint of suspicion.
    She glared at him. "Connor thinks I do."
    "Connor?" Realization dawned in his eyes.
    And her heart cracked. She shored it up with anger—she'd deal with it after. "Yes, the man who I've been dating for the past few weeks. You know, the one you've been coaching."
    He took a step toward her. "Listen, Freya, there's an explanation for—"
    She held out her hand. "Just tell me this. Did you give Connor misleading information about me or