Page 17 of Ex- Factor
“So you really went out with him,” I said, the words tight as I thumbed the edge of my phone case over and over. “My feelings are hurt. How are you going to make it up to me?”
I could feel myself pouting. My feelings weren’t just hurt. They were fucking bruised. I’d played it cool at the restaurant, nodded at Jace like his proximity to her didn’t grate on my patience. But seeing her there, in that dress, looking like a fucking dream for him… it lit a match in my chest.
She rolled her eyes like I was being dramatic.
“You gonna be mad about it all night?” she asked.
“I’m not mad,” I said, even though I was mad.
“You’re acting like you’re mad.”
“I’m annoyed and jealous.” I shrugged. “Big difference.”
I saw it in the arch of her brow.
I stepped a little closer to her.
“Look, you’re not mine. You never said you were. So no—I don’t have a right to be mad. But I know you’d prefer I wasn't.”
She crossed her arms tighter, lips pressing into a line.
“You don’t know what I want.”
“I know you let me in.”
“You let yourself in.”
“And you’re letting me stay,” I countered.
“I didn’t say you could stay,” she rebutted.
“You didn’t say I couldn’t. And you won’t,” I leaned in, “because one, you like me here. Two, you can’t say no to me and you know it.”
That shut her up for a second.
She looked away first. I changed the subject to one that would prove my point.
“Will you cook for me?” I asked, grabbing her hand and sliding my fingers into hers. “I was so upset I couldn’t eat,” I claimed, laying it on thick.
She muttered something under her breath, snatched her hand from mine, and walked into the kitchen.
I snickered low and followed her, watching her pull out chicken and vegetables. I sat down at the counter, watching her work. She looked good. Hair big and soft around her face, skin glowing.
Thinking about her looking this good for him pissed me off.
“Jace isn’t your type,” I said.
She didn’t even look at me as she started chopping a bell pepper.
“And what is my type, Silas?”
I got up slow, came up behind her. Not too close. Not touching. Just letting her feel me there.
“Not safe,” I said. “Not polite and predictable. Not ‘let me tell you about my ski trip and my daddy’s yacht.’”
She didn’t say anything. I knew she was probably rolling her eyes at me.
“I know what it looks like when a woman is trying to convince herself she wants something easy,” I said, my voicelow. “But that’s not you. You don’t do easy. You want real, even if it’s complicated. You just want the man to be honest about it.”
