“You haven’t seen her since the job, have you?” He shakes his head, drags his palm over his mouth as he walks forward. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that, right?”
Heat crawls up my neck, and I scratch at it like I can dig the feeling out. “You know what, fuck you. You’re the one who told me I should give her space.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, trying to dislodge the emotions clouding my lungs.
“Bro, I told you that because she was hurt.” He stares at me for a beat, his expression like he can’t believe how stupid I am.
Well, fuck, neither can I.
My stomach drops to my feet. The back of my neck burns hotter. “Fuck.” The words come out quieter than I meant them to. “I don’t remember that part. You said I was gonna scare her away or some shit.” My arms cross over my chest, fingers digging into my biceps.
Cruz snorts and throws his hands up. “Since when do you fucking listen to me anyway?”
“Since I don’t want to fuck it up with her.” The words explode out of me. My head falls back, eyes squeezing shut. “Goddamnit.” When I look at Cruz again, he’s fighting a smile. I jab my finger toward his face. “You’re a dick. Stop laughing.”
The memory of his words—you’re smothering her, man—burns in my ears while Cruz stands there with that shit-eating grin, hands raised in mock surrender.
“She probably thinks you’re an asshole now.” He pulls out his phone, thumb already swiping across the screen. “Which reminds me, I should probably text her back.”
My stomach drops. “You’ve been texting her?” My eyes narrow on him as jealousy curdles in my stomach like sour milk.
One corner of his mouth lifts higher than the other. “She was my friend first.”
Something twists in my gut, hot and sharp. I’ve heard those exact words too many times, always with that same smug look. I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache.
Annoyance punches me in the stomach, but underneath it there’s something worse—that familiar ache that never quite goes away.
It’s my own fault for listening to him. I should’ve never second-guessed shit with her.
“Whatever, man.” I shoulder past him toward my bedroom. “Don’t we have shit to do on the Mariner apartments? I’m gonna shower. Give me?—“
My feet stop dead. Bishop sits at my kitchen counter, iced coffee raised halfway to his lips like he owns the place. My heart slams against my ribs. “Fuck, Bishop.” My palm presses flat against my chest.
He doesn’t even look up. “If I were an intruder, you’d be dead already.”
My fingers curl into a fist. “You into B-and-Es now?”
“I have a key.” He doesn’t even look up when he says it.
I glare at him. “Give it back.”
His gaze flicks up, sharp enough to cut. “Nah, I think I’ll keep it. I’m sure it’ll come in handy the next time you drop off the face of?—”
I push off the counter, stepping closer. “Thought you learned your lesson about walkin’ in on people already.”
The edge of his mouth lifts into a sneer. “You mean when you were fucking Bellamy in your shower?”
“Careful, brother,” I warn.
“I hope you fucking sanitized it after.” The disdain drips from his mouth.
One step, and I slap his coffee out of his hand. It sails across my kitchen and hits the refrigerator next to Cruz with a wetsplat. Ice and cold brew puddle in the middle of my floor, but I don’t take my eyes off of my oldest brother.
Cruz grunts. “Why is it always when I’m trying to eat?”
“Boundaries, Bishop. Fucking learn them, or I’ll make you.”
He shakes his hand once, flicking droplets of coffee onto my counter top and getting to his feet. That shit might’ve worked when I was eleven. It doesn’t anymore.
Bishop’s jaw tightens as he gives me a flat stare. “You trying to make a statement,brother?”
