Hawk leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. His face was calm, but there was something restless in his eyes. “You haven’t eaten.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Eat.”
The way he said it was flat, like he expected me to obey. I didn’t move.
“You don’t get to just—” I waved my hand between us in frustration. “—do that and then act like everything is normal.”
His brow twitched. “You were hungry.”
“That’s not the issue.”
“Seems like it is.”
My stomach growled loudly, totally betraying me.
With an irritated sigh, I dropped into the chair and stabbed the pasta with my fork. But I wasn’t done. I pointed the fork at him. “You can’t just walk into my house, change my locks, boss me around, declare I belong to you, and then cook me dinner like that makes everything okay.”
Hawk took a slow drink from his glass. “You forgot the part where I fixed your doors.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“You’re still alive.”
“Oh my god.”
I leaned back in the chair, exasperated. “We have seen each other twice.”
Silence settled between us, thick and awkward.
“Twice,” I repeated, looking him in the eye.
“We’ve known each other barely a week.”
Still nothing from him.
“We are strangers.”
Hawk finally pushed off the counter, moving closer. “You’re very loud for someone eating my food.”
“Stop dodging the point.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
He walked toward the table and stopped right in front of it, leaning over slightly. His hands braced the wood, and suddenly the kitchen felt smaller. “You think I don’t know that?” he said.
“That we’re strangers? Because you’re doing a terrible job acting like it.”
His jaw flexed, and I could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “You think I planned this?”
I blinked. “What?”
“You think I woke up one morning wanting some mouthy woman crawling around in my head all damn day?”
His voice dropped lower, rougher.
