Page 77 of Filthy Little Regrets

“God, you’re full of yourself.”

I tip my head. “I like to think of myself as confident.”

“Relentless,” she counters.

“Determined.” I pointedly look at the food. “Eat.”

“Demanding too,” she mutters, grudgingly grabbing a triangle, her gaze thoughtful as she brings it to her lips and takes a bite. Her eyes widen as she chews and takes another bite.

“Good?”

Hesitantly, she nods. “Almost perfect,” she whispers.

Close enough.

twenty-two

CASSIA

I kind of hate that Mace cooked me grilled cheese. He could have picked anything else, but he just happened to choose the meal that’s close to my heart. I’m too cynical to believe in coincidence. He’s been doing his homework. Admittedly, I can appreciate his dedication.

Finishing the second glass of wine—my favorite brand, no less—I study him as he washes the dishes. The scene is peak domestication. Frankly, it’s weird as shit to see him with his sleeves rolled up, bubbles covering his hands. And babies?

He almost seemed excited at the idea. I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to seriously consider if I want them. Mace, though, he looked ready to toss me onto the counter and knock me up right then and there.

Oh, yes, darling, let me tell you how your father and I met. Well, you see, it all started with a man being shot...I almost laugh at the thought. Mace and I barely get along. How are we meant to parent together?

A yawn hits me, and I cover it with my hand, glancing atthe clock. It’s late. “Thanks for the food,” I tell him, heading out of the kitchen while his hands are still busy and he can’t stop me. My belly is warm from the food and liquor, and I slowly make my way up the stairs, yawning again.

A pointed throat clearing comes from the base of the steps.

I pause, hand on the railing, and shoot my gaze over my shoulder. “Yes?”

Mace’s hands are in his pockets, attention fully on me, an eyebrow lifted in warning. “Where are you going?”

“To sleep. In my own bed,” I tell him with a slanted look.

He takes the first step up. “Is that so?”

Is he serious right now? Turning, I cross my arms and watch him ascend with a scowl. “Are you picking a fight?”

He stops two steps below me, his face almost in line with my tits. He stares up at me through thick, dark lashes. “Maybe.”

“You have issues,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Here’s the deal. You’re going to your room. I’m going to mine. End of story.”

“Here’s the problem with that,” he begins, moving up a step. He’s so tall that we trade stances, his neck tipping down and mine tilting back to hold his gaze. “You’ve been breaking my rule every night this week.”

“I thought we already agreed that rule was dumb.”

“We never agreed to anything,” he says, gaze drifting over my face, down my throat, and over the crest of my cleavage. “Starting now, you sleep in my bed.”

“There you go again, trying to tell me what to do.” I shake my head.

“Are you going to be a good girl and listen?”

I scoff. “How about, no?” Turning, I grip the railing tocontinue up the stairs and leave this obnoxious conversation behind.

Mace’s arm hooks under my calves, knocking me over. I tip back and a gasp rips out of my lungs. I’m going to fall. But he catches me without so much as a grunt, smirking down at me as I glower at him. “Careful, baby.”

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