Page 163 of The Fine Line

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“Your nose was bleeding, Rhett,” Bennett snaps. “And no one even touched you.”

I falter, trying with everything in me to keep his eye contact, but my eyes just keep darting away on their own.

“It was me,” I mutter.

“What?” he questions me.

“I hit my nose,” I lie. “When I shoved your d-man.”

He watches me.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “And after you got tossed, you ran home to snort baby powder to stop the bleeding, right?”

My spine steels.

I attempt a casual wipe of my nose. Feel the gritty powder still there.

Fuck.

“Sutty, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t—”

He stops. His eyes flick over my shoulder. Before I can stop him, he pushes past me.

“What the fuck is all this?”

“It’s nothing.” I slam the jewelry box shut.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Maybe you need your eyes checked. You’ve been seeing things all night.”

“Don’t,” he says, jaw locked. “Not with me.”

We stare. The air burns.

“Rhett, please,” he says softly.

“No.” My voice cracks sharp. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you feel sorry for me. Like I’m some broken toy you want to fix.”

He steps closer. “I just want to help?—”

“God, do you not get it? I don’t need your help, Bennett! I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it. Okay? So just stop. Just fucking worry about yourself for once.”

He stops dead in his tracks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I exhale hard. “I know your peaceful, quiet life gets boringsometimes, but people aren’t your charity projects. Not me. Not Julia?—”

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