Rolling her eyes, Meadow hated how Zaire’s voice made her weak.
“Meet me there,” he told her like it was final and the decision had already been made for her.
He walked out before she could argue, leaving Meadow gripping the counter, heart beating too fast, annoyed that he saw through her and even more annoyed at how much she wanted to follow him.
Meadow didn’t rush.
Instead, she wiped the counter down three extra times, checked on Magnolia, straightened the napkins Ray didn’t care about.
Stalled like hell, but her body kept buzzing.
Her skin remembered his kiss.
Her palm remembered the weight of his black card.
Her throat remembered the way he’d saiddon’t do that shit againlike he owned her pulse.
Eventually, she threw her towel down. “Fuck it.”
She stepped out the back door, soft night air touching her shoulders, fireflies still floating around the grass…
The walk to the guest house felt longer than usual.
When she reached the door, she didn’t knock, she pushed it open.
Zaire was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His chain dangled low. His watch flashed under the warm lamplight. His forearms flexed when he looked up.
His eyes dragged over her, like he’d been waiting. “Close the door.”
She did but made sure to scoff while she did it.
He nodded toward her. “Com’ere.”
Meadow crossed her arms. “You got something to say, say it from here.”
Zaire laughed. There was no humor, just disbelief. “Here you go.”
“Here I go what?”
“Acting like you ain’t mad but want to argue.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You are.”
“I’m…not.”
Zaire sat back, spreading his knees slightly, giving her a look that loosened her spine. “Meadow…you got an attitude ‘cause I got a tournament next month.”
“I don’t have an attitude,” she insisted, cheeks warming.
Zaire tilted his head. “Your whole face changed at the table.”
“Because you didn’t tell me.”
He raised a brow. “And that bothered you why?”
“It didn’t.”
