He called her crazy and he told her no. Claire did not like being called crazy and she definitely did not like being told no.  This time it was an irritated look that flashed across her face.<br/><br/>She followed him into his bedroom, reaching behind her back to undo her bra at the same time. He was right - she was wet and she was cold. It made perfect sense to remove the rest of her wet clothing. The undergarment was discarded carelessly on top of the half-made bed. At this rate, she was going to have to go on a scavenger hunt later to find her clothes.<br/><br/>Claire pushed past him to help herself to something from his closet. He kept offering and insisting so she was going to take him up on the offer. There was no sense in hanging around for who knows how long cold and wet. Given the deluge outside, it was more than likely that her Uber had canceled. A hoodie was chosen at random from the selection hanging before her. Holding it in bot hands so that it covered her naked upper body, Claire turned around only to find him<i>right there</i>.<br/><br/>Unlike last time, however, there was no space between them, not even an inch. She was keenly away of his body touching hers. It annoyed her. Why was he<i>always</i>in her personal space?  Mark Windham, with his stupid cane and his dumb hurt feelings over what he perceived had unfairly happened to him. Mark Windham, with his stupid handsome face and his damned problem with alcohol. Mark Windham, the amazing quarterback with a bum leg.<br/><br/>Claire McOwen wanted to shove him out of the way. The Patron had other ideas.<br/><br/>She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him closer. Just as their lips almost met, she growled, “I hate you.”  Her lips mashed into his, a hard bruising sort of kiss, one meant to relieve some of the frustration that had been building since she knocked on his door that morning.