The volume of my fury surprises me, but my outburst has its intended effect. Her bratty smile is replaced with a surly scowl.

“Sheesh, Haas. I was just teasing.” She shifts forward and opens the door.

I should let her go. That’s what I want, right? To get her out of my car and to erase the memory of this entire night from my mind?

But curiosity gets the best of me. “So you do know who I am?”

She gets out of the car but turns to me and nods.

“And you know who my brother is?” I push.

She shifts her weight from foot to foot.

“Of course I know who he is. He looks just like you.” She pops one hip and crosses her arms over her chest.

I find my eyes wandering in search of that hint of cleavage she’s been teasing me with all night but avert my gaze quickly when I remember what’s happening here.

“So given everything you know about my brother… and about what happened last spring…”

She’s regarding me with a less-hostile, almost confused expression now. I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish by lecturing her in her own damn driveway, but I feel compelled to put her in her place.

“You knew who I was when we started talking at The Oak tonight. And I think it’s safe to assume you knew I didn’t know who you were. So you were what—looking for trouble? Provoking me? Stirring the pot?”

She shrugs and glances toward the house for a few seconds before answering. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m not my brother…”

“Obviously,” I deadpan.

“And you’re not your brother,” she snaps.

Interesting.

Little miss spitfire can dish it out, but she doesn’t know how to take it.

We stand there for a beat, glaring at each other. I say nothing, because there’s nothing left to say.

Pulling one over on me didn’t work. She’s not sorry; she’s just sorry she got caught. She can stomp and pout all she wants. We’re done here.

“Close the door, please,” I instruct, trying to sound cordial as I put the car in reverse. But instead of doing as I ask, she swings the door open farther, plants her feet, and brings both hands to her hips.

“What the fuck is your problem? I thought we were having a good time. There’s no reason you can’t come in and do what we were planning to do, Dempsey.”

I scoff at her boldness and the absurdity of what she’s implying. But what did I expect? She’s a child. A little girl. A spoiled princess who’s used to getting her way.

“No can do, princess. It’s been real. Don’t ever talk to me again.”