“Oh, hell no,” I shake my head. “You have beef with me, it gets dealt with in real time.”
“Fine,” he sneers.
“Fine,” I huff. “Let’s have it.”
“You being a dick to a woman who is like a sister to Claudia is an issue. And we thought maybe you were beating your chest around her because you liked her. We didn’t wanna get involved.”
I cross my arms because, really, what am I going to say?
“But then you bring a girl back to the Pad leads me to believe you’re just being a dick, and I will not let you treat a woman like that when I’m around, and that’s any woman, Killer. Sofie? That’s fucking punishable. I’d rather not throw down with one of my best friends, so keeping distance is the only option, and that?” He sneers again. “That fucks with all of us, but especially the rookie who just wants to be with his family this time of year and needs the distraction.”
“I assure you, it won’t be an issue.”
“I’m pretty sure we had this talk before Rockefeller Center.”
I run my hand through my hair, “It’s been handled.”
He palms his face, “Please tell me you did not bring Sofie back to your place.”
So, I don’t say anything.
“You think fucking her is an apology?” He all but roars.
“I think my promising you I won’t act like an ass should be enough.”This is… unfucking comfortable.
“It wasn’t, though, Kilovac!”
“I didn’t fuck her, and she and I are good.” His eyes narrow into slits. “Heads up, you’re pissing me off now.”
“Oh, really?” He huffs.
“My word should be good enough. I?—”
“It was, and then Rockefeller Center happened,” he snaps.
“She started it.” I defend myself and end up sounding like a little bitch.
“You’re unbe?—”
“Fine,” I turn and head to Dash’s vehicle, needing space.
“So,” Dash says, glancing at me over his shoulder from the passenger seat where he sits next to his driver. “You get ghosted?”
Marshall snickers from the back seat, immediately ducking his head like he didn’t just make a sound. Rookie move. He knows better than to fully commit to a side until he’s sure who’s winning.
“Shut up,” I mutter.
“Oh, come on,” Dash presses. “You were in amood. That’s always post–something energy.”
“I’m tired.”
“That’s not a denial,” Marshall says, grin wide now that Dash opened the door for him.
I glare back at him, and he grins harder. Kid’s clearly not reading the mood.
Faulker, sitting beside me, says nothing, which is arguably worse.
I catch his reflection in the window. He’s leaning back, arms crossed, jaw relaxed, wearing the most irritatingly smug expression I’ve ever seen on a man who hasn’t said a single word.
