“Because I don’t share.”
The words hit harder than I expect.
“This wasn’t about sharing,” I say, but my voice loses some edge.
“It wasn’t?” he counters.
“You don’t get territorial just because someone else looks at me.”
“I’ve been territorial since we were sixteen.”
I blink.
“That’s not romantic.”
“I’m not trying to be romantic.”
“Then what are you trying to be?”
“Honest.”
His hand lifts, brushing a stray piece of hair from my shoulder.
“You think it was funny?” he asks.
“The bidding?”
“Yeah.”
I hesitate. “At first.”
“And after?”
“After you said five thousand?”
I swallow. “After that it didn’t feel like a joke.”
His gaze softens slightly. “Good.”
My heart pounds. “You don’t get to control who bids on me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“But you just did.”
“No,” he says quietly. “I decided.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No,” he repeats. “Control is fear. Decision is ownership.”
My pulse spikes.
“Ownership?” I echo.
He steps into my space again. “You wanted me to fight for you.”
The words steal my breath. “You said I never showed up.”
