There it is. The truth in a tux.
I take the last step and crowd his space without touching. “You think I want to be easy?”
He swallows. “I don’t know what you want.”
“You,” I say, everything in me wanting to be clean, not clever. “I want you.
He blows out a breath, slow. “We can’t keep?—”
“—doing this. Yeah, you keep saying that.” I step closer.
He says nothing.
“Alaric.”
The glare he gives me could strip paint. “Don’t say my name like that.”
“Listen to me,” I say. “Please.”
His breath does the thing—it catches, just a hitch.
“Why did you actually come?” he asks, voice softer and meaner at once.
“To see if you were still lying,” I say. “To me. To yourself. To Thorn.”
His posture stiffens at the name. “Leave Kyle out of this.”
“You brought him in,” I say. “Or at least your PR team did.”
He turns, finally—eyes narrowed, color high. “Are you jealous?”
“Of course, I’m jealous!” I let it hang there, shameless. “Sometimes I watch his hand on your shoulder, and I want to rip his arm off. I want you! I kissed you first. I touched you first. I want you to be mine.”
He flinches like I slapped him. He recovers fast, but I know the microtells now. I’ve studied.
Jealousy is an ugly teacher; it’s also effective.
“I’m not doing this with you,” he says.
“What isthisanyway?” I ask softly. “Because last time I checked, you were the one dragging me into private bathrooms. You were the one locking doors.” I nod at the chain on his entry.
He bites off a swear. “You make it sound like I’m?—”
“In charge? You are.” I take another small step. “Saystopand we stop. Saygoand—” I spread my hands. “We go.”
He laughs once, sharply. “You don’t stop when people tell you to.”
I cock my head. “You’ve never told me to.”
His mouth opens, shuts. The party hums behind the closed door.
“Tell me about Thorn,” I say, clean; a blade on a cutting board. “Tell me what he is to you.”
He’s quiet for too long. Finally, he says, “He’s good. He’s steady. He makes life… quieter.” He meets my eyes. “That’s appealing.”
I nod. “Yeah.” I let the next sentence be honest because it hurts: “I can’t give you that.”
“I know,” he echoes, and something hurts in him, too.
