Page 56 of Trigger Happy Ending

“No.”

“What are they about?”

We hold each other’s stare a second too long. I can’t tell her I’ve been writing about her. She can never know how under my skin she’s gotten. She’d fucking dine out on that for days. Besides, twenty questions wasn’t the deal.

“Stuff, okay? I answered your question. Not my fault you weren’t specific enough.”

She sighs, dropping it. Rules are rules. And I’ve noticed she tends to follow them most of the time. Rules, that is. Agency-imposed ones. She mightn’t like them; but she sticks to the rules and follows them, religiously checking in with O every couple of days, despite there being absolute sweet fuck all to report.

The second game is almost a carbon copy of the first, except this time, I win. I contemplate asking her about the scars on her wrists, but I’m enjoying not having her trying to eviscerate me for once, so decide against it.

“My turn,” I declare, leaning against the pool cue. “How’d you get into this line of work?”

She takes a slow sip of her beer before leaning back against the pool table, one boot hooked over the other. “Parental expectations.”

“You’re lying. Against the rules.”

She exhales and reaches for her necklace. I can almost see the wheels spinning in her mind, weighing up how much to reveal, what to conceal. “I didn’t choose this life. It chose me.”

Somehow, her answer has only led to more questions.

“Okay,” I say, resting my cue on the side of the pool table. “An easier question then.”

She shrugs one shoulder, giving me the green light to move forward and ask another.

“How would your friends describe you in three words?”

Raine’s shoulders sag slightly, and the corner of her beautiful lips turns downward. I’ve hit an open wound, an exposed nerve. I don’t think she’s the kind of woman who has a gaggle of girlfriends, but I also don’t think she’s a complete loner. Surely. “Not sure.”

“You don’t have any friends?”

“No, I don’t,” she snaps. “Happy?”

Not one friend?

I frown, stand corrected. “Why would that make me happy?”

“Because you hate me?”

She says it quickly, the way a teenager would snap back at their parents or siblings. My face screws up at that bullshit. “I don’t hate you.”

“Well, you don’t like me.”

“Really?”

“Well, how could you after the shit I’ve put you through?”

Her eyes are wide, one on her hips. She’s fishing, and somehow, my question has turned into her almost manipulating me into revealing that maybe I might be slightly into her. And I’m not admitting that. No fucking way.

We remain stuck to the floor, glaring at each other.

Liking someone—really, really liking someone—is different from being attracted to someone. You can be attracted to someone one second and then forget they exist the next. Take walking down the street, for example. You might see someone who’s attractive, but it’s not like a visceral connection. You forget about them the second you round the corner.

But when I first laid eyes on Raine, there was something else between us other than physical attraction. That something has been there the second I met her in O’s office. I was livid they’d paired me with a partner, but that turned into pure fury when I saw how fucking gorgeous she was.

But there’s something else between us other than physical attraction.

I know it.