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“No.”

“Lights?”

“Off.”

“Interior light?”

Her brows furrow. “Roman.”

“Did your interior light come on?”

“I didn't open the door until after he was inside.”

Good.

“Did you drive past his house?”

“No.”

“Did you⁠—”

“Why does Beck call you Hot Lips?”

I stop.

“Chaos. This is fucking serious.”

“I know. That nickname has been bugging me. And neither of you will tell⁠—”

“Not the fucking nickname.” I gesture at the cab of my truck. “This.”

“Why are you interrogating me?”

“Because you inserted yourself into something you don't understand.”

“I understand that you're watching a man.”

“You understand nothing.”

Her smile disappears.

Fuck. My tone was too sharp.

I look through the windshield, trying to get a grip on my emotions.

I’ve never had a problem controlling them. Not until I met Chaos.

When I turn back, she's studying me. “You're doing the weird thing again.”

“What weird thing?”

“The thing where you get all tense and tell me to go away instead of explaining anything.”

“There's nothing to explain.”

“Liar.”

I clench my jaw. “You need to leave.”