Page 47 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“I asked a question.”

“No, you made a statement with a question-shaped attitude.”

Elliot laughed.

“That's not a thing.”

“It is with you.”

Ronan screwed the cap onto the bottle. Elliot's gaze moved to his hands. There was something about Ronan's hands that had always irritated him. Not because Elliot disliked them. Quite the opposite. Long fingers. Rougher palms than anyone would expect from an architecture student because Ronan insisted on building physical models himself instead of sending them to the fabrication lab. Black ink from one of his tattoos disappeared beneath his sleeve. A thin scar crossed the knuckle of his right index finger from some stupid accident with a utility knife. Dylan had touched that hand once. Elliot remembered. Months ago. Before Elliot had any right to care. He cared anyway.

“Did you ever bring anyone else here?”

Ronan stared at him.

“What?”

“Besides Dylan.”

“No.”

The answer came quickly. Elliot's shoulders relaxed before he could prevent it. Ronan noticed.

“Unbelievable.”

“What?”

“You actually needed to know that.”

“I was curious.”

“You were going to spend the entire night imagining a fucking parade through my bedroom.”

“I wasn't.”

“You absolutely were.”

Elliot smiled.

“Maybe a small parade.”

Ronan laughed despite himself. The tension changed. Elliot felt it immediately. Ronan did too. His smile faded first. Neither spoke. Elliot pushed away from the island. Ronan watched him approach.

“You're still pissed,” Ronan said.

“Not really.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe I don't like people thinking they can have you.”

“They don't.”

“Dylan does.”

“No.”

“He wants you.”