“Then talk. I’m listening.”
Like I have any clue what I want to say to him.
“Back the fuck off. Stop with the dinner invitations. Stop pretending like we’re all going to be best fucking friends.”
“I’m not pretending?—“
“Bullshit.” I take another step toward him. “It’s done, okay.I’mdone.”
“Done with what, exactly?”
“With you! With your fucking games!” I’m close to yelling, and I don’t care. “It’s Haven and me, that’s it. There’s no space for you anymore.” My jaw ticks. “There never fucking was.”
Rooke just watches me with bottomless black eyes as he finishes tugging off his tie, like he’s taking me apart.
“Did she tell you to say that?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t need her permission.”
“That’s not what I?—“
“And I don’t need her help either.” I’m stalking the length of his office, too wired to stand still. “I can handle my own shit. I don’t need her fighting my battles, and I definitely don’t need you looking at me like I’m some kind of—some fuckingassignment.”
“Kai—”
“No. I don’t care what you got to say, I don’t want to fucking hear it. I can see right through this fucking act you’re putting on.”
“It’s not an act,” Rooke says evenly. Fuckingcalmly, as he rolls up his sleeves like he’s getting ready to knead artisanal sourdough or some shit. “She asked me to be patient, so I’m?—“
“Patient.” I bark out a laugh that sounds unhinged even to my own ears. “That’s rich. You’ve never been patient a day in your life. You take what you want, when you want it, and fuck whoever gets hurt.”
“That’s not who?—“
I storm forward, stabbing a finger at him that stops an inch from his white button-up shirt. “That’sexactlywho you are!”
I’m close enough to see the faded scratches on his cheek. Haven’s marks. A reminder of what happened in that mausoleum. Of what he did to me. What I let him do.
What Iwantedhim to do.
My stomach lurches.
“I hate you,” I spit out. “I fucking hate everythingaboutyou. The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you look at her—atus—like you own us. The way you look at me, like you know exactly what I’m thinking.”
“And what are you thinking, boy?”
“Nothing! Not a fucking thing! And stop calling me that.”
But that’s a lie, and we both know it. I’ve been thinking about him constantly. Every night when I close my eyes. Every morning when I wake up hard and aching. Every time I fuck Haven and catch myself wondering what it would be like if he was there too.
He’s doing it again now.
Watching.
Speculating.
Jesus, I want to punch him so bad.
I want to?—
