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“He could’ve. If he was going down on her and then you—”

“He didn’t go down on me.”

I pause outside my bedroom. Was she lying when she bragged about Guy giving her head?

“Ever?”

“Rarely. I can’t even remember the last time he did honestly. Maybe last summer.”

My scoff echoes around us. So it was her. She lied to me. Probably just to make me jealous.

It worked. It worked really well.

Kota Rhodes never ceases to surprise me.

Gently, I set the little liar down in front of me.

“Why didn’t he go down on you?”

“He just…” Avoiding my eyes, she shrugs her slender shoulders. “Didn’t like it.”

Based off the state of his toothbrush, that’s probably a good thing.

“I don’t like eating your pussy either.”

Her eyes shoot to mine.

I lean down to add, “I love it.”

Eyes flicking between mine, I think she’s going to kiss me—I hope she’s going to kiss me—but then she says, “Well, I was clean.”

I halt, trying to figure out what it means. Does she think she’s not clean now? Because of me? I just told her I don’t have anything.

Instead of getting worked up about it, I decide to ask her.

“What do you mean?”

“Last night. I didn’t work out yesterday—”

“I know that.”

“Because of how I tasted?”

“What? No. I reconfigured the house’s sound system so anytime someone plays music in the gym, it plays in my room, too. You didn’t go in the gym at all yesterday.”

“So that’s how…”

“Yeah. That’s how I know when you’re working out for maintenance versus punishment, by your song choice.” If it’s upbeat, she’s enjoying herself. If it’s angry or sad, she’s spiraling. That’s when I step in.

“I don’t punish myself.”

A staring contest ensues.

Until she lifts a hand, then I switch my gaze to that. Don’t fucking do it. Don’t fucking scratch that head.

The hand gets tucked into the hoodie’s front pocket.

Good girl.