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And he did not look happy.

Before I could even school my features into something that wasn’t a mask of shock, longing, and sadness, he was inside my room, slamming the door behind him.

“‘Caught a ride with Tess and Margo. See you at the con.’”

That was the note I’d left at the desk.

Hearing it repeated made me cringe. It was a little cold, considering. But so was the vibe between us after we were intimate again.

I looked up at him, ignoring the way my heart fluttered, and focusing on the furrow set in his brows, how his jaw was so tight that a muscle ticked there, and, most shocking of all… the fact that he was still wearing sleep pants and a t-shirt. I’d never seen the man outside of a bedroom environment not dressed in a full suit.

It was a lot hotter than it had a right to be.

And one part of me was taking note.

“Are you angry with me?” I asked, looking at that muscle jumping again before meeting his eyes. “This is what you wanted, right? Boundaries. Distance. No ‘happily ever after’ to be found here.”

His gaze cut away.

His head shook ever so slightly.

“You were the one who locked yourself away.”

“You walked away first.”

He looked back at me, and I could have sworn I saw the confusion I felt clutched in my own chest reflected in his blue eyes.

“You walked away… further.”

Okay.

This was a serious conversation.

But I couldn’t help it; a little laugh burst out of me at that.

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

His jaw worked side to side for a second.

“Neither did I. But I did.”

It was my time to look away, studying my bare feet for a moment before glancing back up.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about you.”

“I’m not sure I like a man talking about me like a problem he hasn’t decided he wants to solve yet.”

I liked it in my books. The hero who couldn’t reconcile his feelings, who fought them tooth and nail before inevitably giving in. The angst felt rewarding in the plot.

In real life?

It just felt like not being chosen, like not being enough. And, God, I was sick of that feeling.

“You’re not a problem.”

“What am I then?”