Page 96 of The Ache That Stayed

“What?”

I raised a brow. “She seemed interested. And she wasn’t running away from me.”

She stepped forward—jaw set, shoulders squared. Her breast brushed against my chest, eyes flashing with that sharp, wicked defiance that made my blood heat like a furnace.

“Fine,” she bit out. “Go. Go back to Blondie. She’d love to finish what she started.”

She gestured toward the door like she was dismissing me. Like I was some stray she could shoo away.

My chest rumbled with a low growl.

Oh, she wanted to play that game.

Fine.

“You sure?” I asked.

“Yes.” She replied, arms folded, chin up. “Go.”

So I went. Not for her. For me. Because I wanted to see what she would do next. I walked out the door, shutting it behind me. I lit a cigarette and I leaned against the wall next to the door, one leg propped up.

One second.

Two.

I heard her exhale.

Three. Four.

She muttered a curse. I smiled, smoke curling into the dim hallway.

Five. Six.

I heard her let out a grunt.

Seven-eight-nine—I stubbed my half-finished cigarette out.

And then the door flew open. She stared at me. And because I had no intention of being decent, I stared back. Because I was standing right there. Exactly where she left me. Waiting.

Her eyes widened. “You— You didn’t leave?”

I tilted my head, smirking slowly.

“Why would I? I knew you’d come running.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re predictable.”

She tried to slam the door in my face, but I pushed it open with one hand, stepping inside, clicking it shut behind me. Again.

The room felt smaller now. Tighter. Heat and irritation flooded the space between us until it became impossible to ignore either. She grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at me.

“Sleep on the damn floor.”

I caught it, tossing it aside. Because all I could focus on was her. Her flushed cheeks. Her wild breathing. Her pissed-off glare masking how her hands trembled. She could curse me all night, but her body betrayed her.

And mine was already burning.