Leo was never one for games. He didn’t understand the enjoyment others found in twisting words or acting a certain way to elicit a reaction in someone else. He did not like, did not partake and certainly was not oblivious to them. So as Peyton Ainsworth stood before him after a year of radio silence and bad blood, he picked up on the slight curve of her lips, the way her deep brown eyes traced the growing muscles of his chest and arms, before dragging back up to his face. It was like a perfectly choreographed dance and just a year ago, Leo would’ve drunk off the sway of he hip, curing of her lips or batting of eyelashes, but not today. Not anymore. Even the slightest of nods would’ve given Peyton the satisfaction in knowing that he went back to the days tangled up in Tangerine Towers. So rather than counter with a detailed description of his workout routine, or the reasons behind he now needed to work off stress, he let her words fizzle out in the emptying garage until they were no more.
He stepped away from the side of the car an circled around front once again, reaching into the engine and tweaking a few grease coated parts. Leo was very much aware of her eyes boring holes into the back of her head as she barked about her work-ethic, how she never replied on her fathers money and the list of accomplishments she had under her belt. But rather than let her sharp words pierce his skin like she surely expects them to, they bounced off like bullets against a vest, grazing rather than harming. Leo had grown a thick skin since that night a year ago, and though her words might’ve worked before, they had no impact on him now. Something that surprised even him.
“Mhm, yeah. That’s great, Pey,“ he said, tone dismissive as his eyes remained focused on the engine before him. “You’re right. You don’t need Daddy’s money or Mommy’s trust fund. You’re a self-made woman and can take on the world on your own. You’ve made enough walking through Caledonia’s halls and taking out married men to last you a life time, maybe even two if you lucked out in whatever city you snaked your way into. Congratulations.” His tone was condescending and sharp, and his words mean. They felt dirty as they slipped from his lips for he never spoke to anyone this way. But seeing your girlfriends legs spread for your roommate and hearing his name slip from her lips changed something in him and there was no going back.
At her following words, Leo finally turned to face her, his hands instinctively reaching for a cloth to wipe away the excess grease. "Ho many times do you need to hear it to get the hint?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed in both frustration and anger. “You can’t just show up and demand work to be done on your car. My open door policy now applies to everyone in town except you. Get your car off my lot. Take the burger and toss it in the trash. I don’t have time for your games anymore.” Stepping forward, Leo looked down at his former girlfriend, eyes hard.
“I want you to go, Peyton.”
It was chilling the transition between how their relationship was to where it stood now. She’d never understood the frequency, the reoccurring nature of being monogamous and it was clear that being exclusive with Leo didn’t quite allow that concept to ring any clearer. Peyton was always open to being his and his alone. Hell, she never planned on cheating. Walking in on her father cheating was enough to make her hate cheaters but people always told her that she was her father’s daughter so the ease with which she found herself in an affair was only a matter of time away. But why Leo? He was perfect in almost all aspects a person could be without flaw. Perhaps Peyton was just worrisome when it came to one thing in her life being flawless. But how could she explain that fear to him? Her fear did not compare to those hurt she imposed on him so an explanation was better left unsaid.
“Talent is what go me to the city.” Peyton defended, simply enough though his words were throwing knives that were by no means missing. The next thing she said was to not receive his pity but rather to further preserve her own image that Leo was attempting to tear down. “I got the job offer a year and half ago but I stayed here to be with you. So no, I didn’t get under anyone to get the job. I was referred by a client. An actual client. Whore’s can be talented, who knew?” She scoffed softly. She’d never expected Leo to blatantly insinuate that she was a whore. She believed he was a better person than that but perhaps he’d believed it all along. “So, what? When you open up new garages it’s because you’re hardworking and driven but when I get a job offer it’s because I was blowing someone? I wouldn’t expect such slut shaming language from someone who literally dated an escort.”
Peyton’s eyes didn’t retreat from Leo’s angered stance as he approached her. Backing down would have shown weakness so instead she stared, despite sadness tickling the back of her throat. She bit it back by exhaling, disappointment weighing down her brows though she narrowed her eyes to disguise it as a challenging glare. “So when Ilia shows up here after cheating and moving back to town you take her lunch but I don’t get as warm a welcome?” Peyton asked followed by an amused laugh. It was a familiar laugh, especially to Leo, signifying that she was not only anger but rather that the argument wasn’t quite over. “Lucas told me you guys haven’t talked much. Did I strike a chord? Did I.. break you?” She asked vindictively, very well knowing that she was in the wrong. Leo had the right to be upset, furious even. But it was like the redhead to continuously push buttons until something exploded. “You getting hurt by someone you clearly think so lowly of says a lot more about you than it does about me.” Peyton barked back coldly. “You can be mad about what I did all you want, buddy. Take it to your grave for all the fucks I give. But you’re not going to call me a whore to my face because I was your whore, one you mistakenly fell in love with. At least then men who pay to stare at my tits for an hour don’t fantasize about putting a ring on my finger, at least they commit to their beliefs that you can’t make a whore a house wife.”
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