Page 129 of The Fine Line
“Angry?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re infuriating?—”
“No,” he cuts in, his voice low and steady. “Why specifically?”
I gape at him, dumbfounded. “I think that’s obvious.”
“Because of the woman?”
It’s more complicated than that.
But, essentially?—
“Yes.”
“Because you were jealous?”
“Yes—” I cut off. “What? No.”
Rhett stares at me. He doesn’t say a word. A ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth—and it lights the fuse.
“In case you’ve forgotten,” I seethe, “I’m not some delusional member of the Rhett Sutton fan club. What you do in your personal life means nothing to me. And frankly, I know exactly what to expect from you. Just because we’re in a fabricated, meaningless relationship doesn’t change that.”
He studies me for a beat, brows pulling together. But then his expression drops—and he starts to laugh.
My eyes narrow. “What the hell is so funny?”
“Fabricated?” he echoes, stepping toward me. “Maybe. Butmeaningless?” He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Now you’re just lying to yourself.”
I shake my head, scoffing. “I’m being one hundred percent truthful when I say I couldn’t care less that you slept with that woman.”
“I didn’t sleep with her.”
I arch a brow.
“I fucked her.”
“Oh.” The word escapes before I can stop it.
“And that doesn’t bother you,” he says flatly.
I cross my arms. “Doesn’t affect me whatsoever.”
He studies me—really studies me—his eyes trailing down my body like he’s trying to catch me in a lie. “You sure about that?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“It’s okay, you know,” he says, voice softer now. “If it does. You can admit it.”
He reaches out, winding a loose strand of hair around his finger. I jerk back, but he follows, stepping into my space as he tucks it gently behind my ear.
“I’ll admit it right now,” he murmurs, meeting my eyes. “Seeing Mick Davis’s hands on you made me want to murder him right there on the dance floor.”
He steps closer, and I instinctively move back.
