Page 49 of Chasing Sarah

My jaw ticks, my shoulders hiking up to my ears. My fists are clenched so tight my knuckles threaten to rip.

“UGH!” I halt and quickly spin on my heels. “Fine! Show me to your fucking room. I’m tired and in need of a shower.” He meets my glare with a smile.

“Good girl.”

I’m going to suffocate him.

While Sarah showers, I head toward the kitchen to whip up something for her eat.

Pissed off and annoyed Sarah is fun to mess with.

I’m surprised smoke wasn’t pluming from her ears and nose when I shut all the doors immediately after she opened them.

There is no chance in hell she’s sleeping anywhere but in my bed.

She doesn’t get a choice.

Am I being crazy?

Yes.

Do I give a fuck?

Nope.

I don’t know why she even thinks she can attempt escaping this world-bending tug we have for each other.

As I’m setting her plate onto the kitchen island, I hear the soft patter of her bare feet striding toward me.

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth when she comes into view.

Her blonde hair is wet, dripping on the fabric of the ragged oversized tee she’s wearing.

I pause. Anger rising in my chest.

“Whose fucking shirt is that?” I sneer, rounding the island and walking toward her.

Sadness flashes in her eyes before being masked by the fire I’ve become accustomed to.

“None of your damn business,” she growls.

She moves to push past me, and I grip her arm.

“Tell me,” I demand. Rage rises in her ocean blues, her nostrils flare, lips curling in a snarl.

My grip tightens when she tries to jerk free.

“I swear to Satan, I will gut you if you don’t let me go, Rhys,” she seethes through clenched teeth.

“Take the shirt off. I’ll give you one of mine.”

The glare she sends me would level Mt. Everest.

“Eat shit,” she spits, ripping her arm from my grasp before marching down the hallway.

I scowl at her retreating form.

My gaze slides to the plate of food sitting on the counter.

---