Page 9 of Cruel When He Smiles
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I got that.”
He knows he shouldn’t be out here alone, but that’s the thing about Nate Carter—he can’t help himself when it comes to me. He wants the fight, even when he knows I’m playing him, even when he knows I’m baiting him. He still comes back,stilltakes the challenge,stillreacts.
I wonder how far he’ll go before he realizes I’m not the one losing here.
I tilt my head, considering him. “Tell me, Nate—why do you‘hate’me so much?”
His hands curl into fists at his sides. “Because you’re fake.”
Interesting.
I smile. “That so?”
His jaw is tight, that same glare burning in his eyes that I crave. He hates me, and I enjoy every second of it. Because hate is still attention, and right now, he’s trying so fucking hard not to react.
It’s in the way his shoulders tighten, and his jaw locks up like he’s grinding his teeth down to nothing, how his hands flex at his sides because he wants to hit me but knows better. He’s holding it in, forcing himself not to give me what I want.
And it’s fascinating.
Even though he’s quick to anger, Nate Carter has discipline. I want to know how much of it I can break. It’s the whole reason I was needling him before he punched me.
I slowly step closer, and he doesn’t back away, but he doesn’t close the space either. He just waits. His green eyes flicker, a warning, adon’t fucking do it, but I don’t take warnings from people like him. I take opportunities.
I let my voice drop just enough that it forces him to listen. “You know, you say I’m fake, but you’re the one pretending right now.”
His brow furrows. “The fuck are you talking about?”
“You. Standing here. Holding it all in likesucha good boy.”
His nostrils flare and his cheeks slowly turn pink. “Don’t fucking call me that.”
I let out a quiet laugh, then I lean in, forcing him to tip his head back to keep eye contact. He’s not small or weak, but he’s slightly shorter than me, and I know he fucking hates it. “You hate me, right?”
His jaw tightens. “Obviously.”
I hum. “Hate takes a lot of energy. You sure that’s what it is?”
His lips part then press back together like he’s thinking about his answer, like I just knocked him off balance for half a second. He doesn’t want to respond. Doesn’t want to engage because he knows what I’m doing.
I drag my gaze back to his eyes, watching him watch me. I smile again, but this time, I make it different. Not cocky. Not teasing. Simply… curious.
“Why do you react to me more than anyone else?” I ask softly.
His body locks up, and there it is. The beautiful hesitation. The second of doubt.
He recovers quickly, but I don’t miss it. I never miss it. “You’re not special, Callahan.”
I let that sit between us for a beat, before I carefully lean in closer to his ear—so close that I can see how his pulse kicks up at his throat. I keep my voice low and intimate. “You sure about that?”
His breath stutters, and I know it’s pissing him off that his body is reacting when his mind is screamingdon’t play this game.
I pull back, and catch the brief moment his eyes flick to my lips. He swallows hard and takes a step back, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking headcase.”
I grin, and watch as he turns on his heel, stalking back toward the house, his whole body thrumming with frustration.
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders, and letting the cold air settle over me.
My new toy is breaking, and I’m going to enjoy watching it shatter.
