Page 123 of His Reckoning

“You’re eating alone,” I shout over my shoulder.

“Noted.”

I don’t look back. If I do, I might throw something at his head.

My bedroom door slams shut behind me. The quiet that follows is immediate; it’s suffocating.

I stand in the middle of the room for a moment, breathing hard, trying to push down the frustration still buzzing through my chest.

He thinks he’s so clever.

I drop the laptop onto the bed and start pacing back and forth across the carpet. The same way he was pacing last night.

“He is not getting away with that,” I mutter.

The memory of his face when he read that chapter flashes in my mind. How he choked on his snack. The way his ears turned red and he looked like he couldn’t decide whether he was scandalized or intrigued.

My pacing slows.

A new idea slowly begins to form. If Sawyer wants to play games … fine. Two can play that game.

My lips curl slightly. Suddenly, the irritation in my chest is turning into something else entirely. It’s a lot more interesting.

Sawyer spent the last week pushing my buttons, testing me. Trying to prove he knows exactly how I work.

Well … maybe it’s time he learns a few things about me too.

I glance down at the laptop sitting on the bed, then toward the bedroom door.

My pulse picks up slightly. Not from nerves, but from anticipation. Because I know exactly what I’m going to do.

I grab the laptop and tuck it under my arm. Then I march toward the door with purpose. If Sawyer thinks he’s the only one capable of running experiments in this apartment …

He’s about to be very surprised. My hand closes around the doorknob.

I take one steadying breath, then twist it open.

Time for a little payback.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sawyer

The apartment goes quiet a few seconds after Kayla’s bedroom door slams. I take another drink of water and lean back against the kitchen counter.

Her anger was predictable. Kayla doesn’t like losing arguments, especially ones she started.

I glance down the hallway where she disappeared.

She’ll cool off … sooner or later. Presumably come back out in an hour, pretending the entire conversation never happened.

Which would be fine because the argument is already over.

I set the bottle on the counter and open the fridge again, pulling out something easy for dinner.

Behind me, the apartment stays silent.

No footsteps or doors opening. No furious pacing, like the night before.