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I looked away.

“Riot.”

“Drop it.”

Her expression fell. “Why?”

Because every time she talked about it, it got worse. I remembered exactly how much I’d liked it, and I didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

“You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I sat up abruptly. The apartment suddenly felt too small, warm, and too fucking quiet.

Maria stared at me, confused. “I’m trying to help.”

The words hit a nerve. “Then stop talking about it.”

Maria stared at me with her mouth open, then her own temper finally appeared. “I’m talking about it because you’re acting like I did something wrong.”

“You didn’t.”

“Then what is your problem?”

I didn’t have an answer I could give her, because I didn’t understand it myself. I’d never felt that good during sex, but I wasn’t gay, and I wasn’t bi, so why did it feel so good when she touched me like that?

I stood and reached for my kutte.

“Riot.”

I ignored her.

“Riot.”

“I’m going out.”

“You’re seriously leaving?”

I shoved my arms through the sleeves. “Need some air.”

Maria stared at me with disbelief and hurt written all over her face. “You’re unbelievable.”

Maybe, but staying felt worse, so I grabbed my keys and walked out.

The clubhouse was packed, music blasting from the speakers while glasses clinked against the bar and somebody got absolutely destroyed at pool near the back. Normally it would’ve annoyed me. Tonight, I welcomed it. The noise filled every corner of the room and drowned out the thoughts I couldn’t seem to shut off.

I dropped onto a stool and ordered a whiskey. Then another. The burn settled low in my chest, but it wasn’t enough. I signaled for another before I’d even finished the second. The bartender didn’t question it. He took one look at my face and wisely decided not to ask.

Ghost glanced over from a table near the dartboard. Whatever he saw made him turn straight back around. Smart man.

The problem was that no matter how much whiskey I poured down my throat, I couldn’t stop replaying the evening. Maria’s face kept appearing every time I closed my eyes. The confusion. The hurt. The way she’d looked at me like she genuinely didn’t understand what she’d done wrong. Because she hadn’t. That was the fucking problem.

A familiar perfume drifted through the air before Brandi slid onto the stool beside me. “You look miserable.”