“To what? Get your cock sucked and then fuck her? Bareback?”
Rafe laughed, but it lacked mirth. “Isthatwhat you’re so pissed about? Because I fucked her bare?”
Holt continued to glare. “I figure it’s something you have a conversation about first.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Rafe rolled his eyes. “And you think the only conversation that takes place is when you’re in the room? Fuck you. Wedidhave a conversation. When she came over here yesterday mornin’, we fucked. I forgot the condom. She said she was on birth control and that she’s clean.”
Holt stared at him, his mouth set in a thin line.
“What?”
“Are you done being a dick?”
Rafe snapped. “Fuck you, Holt. Fuck you and the goddamn horse you rode in on. I’ve done every fuckin’ thing you’ve wanted me to do since the day you got here. I even fucked the woman I loved while you tag-teamed her. That ain’t enough for you?”
Holt shoved him. “If you ever talk about her like she’s a conquest, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Rafe sneered. “You’ll come over here and expect me to fuck you, too? That’s what I’m good for, right? An incredible night? Is there a book on how to draw the murderer in and get him to play house with you? Lemme guess. You found the chapter that said,let’s give him a blowjob!”
Holt’s expression was one of shocked horror.
Yeah, Rafe knew how he sounded. He was a complete asshole. No one was disputing that, but goddamn.
Rafe ran his hand through his hair and groaned. The muscles in his neck and shoulders were knotted, and he feared he was dangerously close to hitting Holt in the fucking face.
“How dare you come to my apartment and tell me I screwed shit up.” Rafe spun and pointed at Holt. “You’re the one who screwed this all up. You came rollin’ into town lookin’ to wrangle up a couple of people for your little orgy. Oh, hey!” He waved his arms. “Look, there’s Bailey Weber. She’ll go good with a side of Rafe Sharpe.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
Rafe honestly didn’t know.
No, that was a big fucking lie. He knew, and it was his own guilt that was turning him into a dickhead. He hadn’t wanted to leave last night. He’d tried to convince himself to go back, but the more he thought about it, the more panic set in until the walls were closing in on him, and he couldn’t breathe.
But it was easier to pretend it had been his choice than to let Holt know about that weakness. He didn’t want the man’s pity.
“Are you telling me what happened last night was a mistake?”
Rafe heard genuine concern in Holt’s tone and decided to dial down his fury a notch.
“It should be,” Rafe admitted.
“Why?”
Rafe took a deep breath, preparing for a tirade, but the moment he saw Holt’s downtrodden expression, it lost its luster.
He opted for the truth. “Because I had a fuckin’ panic attack, all right?”
Holt took a step toward him.
Rafe held up a hand. “Stop. Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. And don’t you dare tell me that time heals all wounds because that’s a fuckin’ lie. If it did, I would’ve been able to go in that house at least one of the thousands of times my brother invited me over the past three years. But I can’t because when I do, all I see is—”
“What, Rafe? What do you see?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” Holt moved toward him. “It fucking matters.”
Rafe shook his head.
