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“Don’t call me that.”
His eyebrow arches. “So, we’re back to this?”
“I guess so.” I want to cross my arms over my chest, but I can’t. He’s standing too close.
“You didn’t mind me calling you that the other night.” He’s watching me, and I feel like he can see straight into my head, shredding all my defenses. “Ask me,” he pushes, his easygoing manner suddenly shifting.
“Ask you what?” My brow furrows.
“Ask me whatever it is that you’ve been stewing over all night here in this art room.”
“I haven’t been stewing about anything. I haven’t thought about you once.” Lies.
A few beats go by as we stare at each other in a standoff. He knows I’m lying.
Finally, I give in. “Were you with Alexa tonight?”
His face flushes with anger, and I expected it. What I wasn’t anticipating is the hint of hurt reflecting back at me at the same time.
“You mean, did I fuck her.” It’s a statement, not a question. “That’s what you’re asking, right?”
“Yes, Sam. Did you sleep with her?”
His eyes flicker between mine for a full minute while I’m holding my breath, waiting for his answer. If he admits to it, I know it’ll destroy me. I hate that I’ll be upset and taken off guard. But somewhere between our burgeoning friendship, the soft kisses, and the confessions in the dark, I started to fall hard for Sam. I’m just now realizing how hard and how far I’ve fallen.
“Because that’s the kind of guy I am, right? The good-time fuckboy, ready to screw anything in heels.”
I stand my ground and don’t answer. The insinuation sits heavily in the air between us. We both know that is who he used to be. He was that guy for years.
His mouth sits in a straight, unhappy line. I’ve wounded him. Good. Because he’s turned me into this insecure, needy female.
“Do you really think I would do that after the night we spent together?” he asks.
Yes. No. I don’t know.
My stubborn silence speaks loudly in the quiet room. I want him to prove me wrong. I want him to fight for me and care that I’m insecure about us. I want him to say all the things I need to hear, all the things neither of us has said yet.
“Alexa bid on me for her seventy-year-old mother who happens to love the Hawks. I went to dinner with her,” he sneers. His gaze hardens. He presses me harder against the wall with his body, but he isn’t hurting me. “Don’t you get it by now?” His voice is raised, but more in passion than anger. “Haven’t you noticed that I haven’t looked at another woman since you came around, let alone touched one?”
He suddenly steps back, and I immediately miss the heat of his body. He paces around the room, gripping his hair in his fist before letting go. His eyes are fiery when they turn back to me.
“Haven’t you seen the changes in me? I barely drink anymore, and it’s not because you told me to tone it down. I was tired of making bad decisions. I didn’t want to be that guy any longer. And I didn’t want to see the look on your face again the night you picked me up from the club in Seattle.” He’s ticking things off his fingers. “I get a solid eight hours of sleep these days. Hell, I’m even eating better now.” He pauses to look me directly in the eye. “You’ve affected me, Em. You’ve made me want to be different. And I haven’t desired another woman since you stepped through the door of my apartment. Do you not get that?”
“But you hated me when I first came,” I argue, not ready to let it go.
“I did.” He nods. “But I was never indifferent. And you hated me too.”
“I hated who I thought you were,” I admit.
“And how do you feel about me now? Now that you know me.”
I look away. “I think it’s obvious how I feel.”
“I know you were jealous tonight of Alexa when you had no reason to be.”
“You would’ve been jealous, too, if the roles were reversed.”
“Damn right I would’ve been! It would make me crazy if you were out with some rich asshole.”
