I step out of my room to get a glass of water, rehearsing what I might say if I catch him in the hall. Something calm. Something that won’t make things worse.
Except when I finally turn the corner—
Everything in me stops.
Jamie is standing by the entryway mirror, fixing the strap of a tiny, tight, black-and-silver outfit that barely counts asa costume. His legs look endless in those stupid, glittering shorts. The top is sleeveless, cropped, clinging to his waist in a way that makes me want to grab it and pull him back inside.
He turns when he hears me.
And my vision goes red.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” I bite out.
Jamie’s brow lifts.
“A costume.”
“That’s not a costume,” I snap, stepping closer.
“That’s— you look—”
I clench my jaw because the words forming in my mouth aren’t ones I can say without sounding like a caveman.
“You’re not going out like that.”
Jamie’s expression hardens instantly.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Go change.”
He actually laughs. It’s sharp and cruel, nothing like the soft laugh he used to give me when we were tangled in my sheets.
“You don’t get to tell me what to wear, Lex.”
“I don’t want anyone seeing you like that.”
The possessiveness comes out low, dark, unfiltered.
“No one gets to look at you like that.”
Jamie’s eyes flash.
“Why do you even care?”
“I—”
Because you’re mine. Because the thought of someone else’s hands on you makes me want to put someone in a hospital. Or worse. I would kill someone for touchingyou without a second thought. That’s what I almost did to his friends at his birthday party, when I saw one of them putting his hands on Jamie, hugging him for far too long.
But I can’t say that.
He shakes his head, angry.
“Right. Of course. You don’t care.”
His voice gets louder.
“You didn’t care when you humiliated me in front of everyone. You didn’t care when you laughed at me with your stupid friends.”
