Page 115 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“You can go home,” I snapped.

Cian just looked at me.

“You were just going to move without saying anything,” I said, dropping my purse on the couch. “What the fuck, Cian?”

“Think back, Myla,” he replied quietly. “What was happenin’ with us a few weeks ago?”

My stomach lurched.

“Yeah. We weren’t talkin’.”

“But you said you knew for months.”

“Aunt Ashleyoffereda couple of months ago,” he said. “But we were negotiatin’ for a long-ass time because she wanted to sell it to me for way less than it’s worth.”

“Well, why wouldn’t you say anything about it then?” I asked stubbornly.

“Because I didn’t think it was gonna work out.”

“Did you convince her to take more?”

“Hell no, she wore me down,” he muttered.

“Oh.”

We stood there quietly for a few minutes, and I’d never been more grateful for my friends for not coming out of their bedrooms to see what the commotion was about. They could probably hear everything we were saying already, but normally that wouldn’t stop Frankie from coming out to watch the show.

“Don’t tell me to leave,” Cian said finally. “You said you weren’t doin’ that shit anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just meant if you didn’t want to deal with me, you could go.”

“We’re not doin’ that shit anymore,” Cian said, slicing his hand through the air.

“But what if—”

“No.”

“If we’re annoyed with each other, why would you want to stay the night?”

“We’re not datin’, Myla,” Cian replied. “We’re notfigurin’ outif this works. Weknowthis works. I’m not sleepin’ without you even if you’re bein’ a bitch.”

“I’m not being a bitch.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“You implied it.”

“Mother of God,” he muttered, shooing me toward the hallway. “Go. Bedroom.”

“Don’t boss me around,” I griped as I walked toward my room. “I’m home,” I called out loudly.

“We know,” Lou called back dryly from behind her bedroom door.

Cian pinched my ass to get me moving, and I practically leaped through my bedroom doorway in surprise.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” I said as he closed us in. “Before—you know, before.”

“I didn’t tell anyone at first,” he replied, taking off his cut and laying it over my vanity stool.

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