Page 33 of Bitter When He Begs

I smirk, rolling my shoulders, still riding the post-run high. “You wish.”

Eli snorts, shoving open the front door. “Yeah, yeah. Next time, try running without looking like you’re trying to outrun your own demons, huh?”

I don’t answer. Because the second I step inside, the smell of coffee and burnt toast hits me, and my eyes land on the last fucking person I want to see right now.

Sage.

He’s standing by the counter, a mug in one hand, his fingers twitching slightly around the handle. His hair is still messy from sleep, glasses sliding down his nose as he talks to Killian, who’s flipping eggs in a pan.

When he sees me, he stiffens. It’s small, barely noticeable, but I see it. The slight shift in his posture, the way his grip on his mug tightens, the way his lips press together like he’s bracing for something.

He knows what he did last night. He knows what it fucking did to me.

And, for half a second, I want to drag him out of here, pin him against the nearest wall, and remind him exactly who the fuck he belongs to.

But I refuse to let this twink fuck with me any longer.

So, I walk past him like he’s not even there, like I don’t see him, like I don’t fucking hear the sharp inhale of breath he takes when I move by. I pour myself some coffee, crack my neck, and settle against the counter, talking to Julian and Eli about the run, about the game, about anything except him.

Fuck him.

I hear footsteps on the stairs, voices carrying down the hall, and a second later, Roman walks in with Damon at his side, both of them still looking half-asleep. Roman yawns, ruffling his hair. “Morning, assholes.”

Damon just grunts, heading straight for the coffee. He’s got that quiet, slow-moving danger about him, the kind that people overlook until it’s too fucking late.

He lifts his chin at me in greeting, and I smirk. “Morning, princess.”

Damon rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. He flops into one of the chairs, stealing a piece of toast from Killian’s plate without hesitation. “You look like shit, Devereaux.”

I chuckle, leaning back against the counter. “And you look like you just crawled out of a fucking grave.”

Damon hums as he chews. “Probably did.”

I grin at him and cross my arms. “Late night?”

Damon flicks me a look, but there’s amusement in his green eyes. “Something like that.”

Julian snickers, already pulling a protein bar out of the cabinet. “Translation: he was up all night letting Roman crawl all over him.”

Roman grins, slipping an arm around Damon’s waist. “Guilty.”

Damon snorts, but there’s no real heat behind it. A few months ago, we were all ripping into Roman for being a screamer, but now he’s owning that shit.

“God, you two are disgusting,” I chuckle and shake my head.

“Jealous?” Damon smirks.

“Not even a little.” I take another sip of my coffee and sit down next to him. “I actually get holes with variety.”

Talking to Damon is easy. He’s one of the few people who doesn’t bullshit, who doesn’t push or try to figure out the things I don’t want figured out. He keeps his shit to himself, and he expects the same in return.

So, we shoot the shit for a second, talking about nothing, and all the while, I don’t look at Sage.

I pretend he’s not there, and it works. At least, it does until Damon suddenly leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees,his voice dropping low enough that no one else hears when he murmurs, “We need to talk. Alone.”

My smirk fades, my body stilling slightly as I study him. Damon doesn’t say shit like that unless it’s serious. Unless it matters.

I keep my expression neutral, rolling my shoulders. “Yeah?”

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