Page 18 of Flipping the Script

What the fuck was happening?

I’d always had a temper, and I’d gotten into my fair share of fights over the years, but I hadn’t been this close to snapping in a long time. And I’d never felt this out of control, like I was one more snarky comment away from losing my shit, and Sebastian wasn’t even fighting with me. He didn’t have to.

The fact that he could rile me up like this while he was having a grand old time only served to piss me off even more.

“Do it,” he taunted.

“Do what?” I ground out.

“Whatever you’re thinking. Come on. We both know you’re itching to lay me out. Go ahead. Do it.”

“Fuck you.” I drew in a shaky breath. “I’m not about to put hands on you so you can go crying to whoever will listen that I attacked you. Try again.”

He let out a condescending chuckle. “I’m not afraid of you.”

I silently counted to five.

It did nothing to calm me down.

“Everything is a goddamn joke to you, isn’t it?” I demanded, anger bleeding into every word. “You’re all about having fun and fucking around while the rest of us have to actually work to get where we are.”

He glared at me, his cheeks going red as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

I should shut the fuck up and leave. Just get in my truck and drive away before things went completely sideways.

But now that I’d started, I couldn’t stop. It was like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube. Once I gave into my anger, I was powerless to do anything except ride out the wave and hope to fuck I didn’t say or do something I couldn’t take back.

“You think I didn’t work to get where I am?” he asked, his voice unnaturally low and quiet.

“I think you worked damn hard to get to where you are,” I said, not backing off even though I knew I should. “But you still ended up right back where you started with nothing to show for it.”

His eyes flashed, and his nostrils flared as he stood stock-still, every fiber of his being zeroed in on me.

Fuck, I was being an asshole. That was too far, even I could see that, but something about his anger exhilarated me and fed my own, creating a sort of feedback loop of awareness that was downright addictive.

I hated being angry, hated feeling out of control and letting people see what was truly going on in my head. I’d spent years learning how to hide my emotions.

But something about the energy between us was different from before. It was electric and alive—and the most real thing I’d felt in years.

“Fuck you,” he spit out. “You don’t know me.”

“Newsflash, asshole. We grew up together. Your sister is basically my little sister. I know you.”

“No. You. Don’t.” He stepped closer with each word, halving the distance between us. “You have no idea what my life has been like, what I’ve had to deal with.” He glared at me, his chest heaving as he drew in harsh, panting breaths. “You’re so blinded by your privilege you can’t see two feet past your own ego.”

“I’mprivileged?” I threw back my head and laughed.

“Yes.” He was practically vibrating with rage.

“Oh, really.” I swept my hand around in a wide arc. “Which one of us has a cottage with a private beach? Which one of us grew up in a house with twice as many bedrooms as people? How the fuck am I the privileged one between us?”

“You’re not exactly a pauper, Miller.” He flexed his hands like he was trying to stop himself from punching me. “You can’t really say shit to me about privilege when we grew up in the same neighborhood.”

He wasn’t wrong. Sebastian’s family had generational wealth, but my family wasn’t struggling. My parents weren’t rich, but they were well-off.

“But it’s no surprise you’re so blinded by your perfect life you can’t see it.” His mouth twisted up in a sneer.

“You think my life is perfect?” I spat out, the edges of my vision shimmering and narrowing.

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