Page 17 of Bound

“And Ithinkthat now you’re back to being a jerk because heaven forbid someone think something nice about you, Jackson Hunter.”

I can see it in her face, imagine her words before she even allows them to dance off the tip of her tongue.

Fuck.

“I know,” she says. “Yes, I stumbled upon information I shouldn’t have had access to, and I know I should have kept my fucking mouth closed and not mentioned it to you that I did. But?—”

“Don’t,” I growl.

“—all of that being said doesn’t mean?—”

“Don’t.”

“That you’re a bad person.”

I move to her in a rush, the sports drink—in a flavor I fucking hate, by the way, something I see her notice, because Claire keeps track of those fucking small details all the time. Plus, it’s full sugar, so I can’t even drink it without insulin. I’m really fucking this up, especially as it spills out of the open lid, sloshing down the sides, and covering my hand.

Sticky, it already feels sticky.

Like the memories eating me up from the inside.

“Don’t,” I say again, plunking the bottle on the counter and bending and putting my face in hers, blatantly trying to intimidate her.

And knowing it’s not working in the least when she just rolls her eyes, mouth tipped up at the edges.

She’s seen through me.

Fuck.

“You’re not even that good at being a dick, Jackson,” she says. “I’m realizing that now.”

“I’m totally a dick.” I narrow my eyes. “And I’m good ateverythingI do.”

Her mouth ticks up. “Sure you are.”

I glare. “You’re just a nosy little girl who doesn’t know when to mind her own business.”

I expect her face to cloud with hurt, expect her eyes to show that same pain from the other night when she was talking about me only seeing her for snacks and sandwiches.

But I don’t see it today.

I’ve given away too much.

“Don’t you have to make a snack run?” I ask sarcastically.

“Nope,” she says tartly, shoving by me and moving toward the refrigerator. “I have to reorganize this fridge because someone is trying to be a jerk and only mildly succeeding.”

Ignoring that, I grab her arm, drag her back toward me. “Why are you so quiet and shy with everyone else”—except Smitty, who has a way of getting anyone to talk—“but such a pain in the ass with me?”

Her mouth flattens out. “I was kind of thinking it was the other way around.”

“Hilarious,” I mutter.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of hilarity going around,” she says dryly, reaching for the bottle and capping it.

I narrow my eyes.

She lifts her chin. “You don’t even like that kind.”

---