Page 36 of Sweetheart: Part One

Not. At. All.

“Oh… hi,” I said, crossing toward him as he took a seat on the edge of my bed. That stalled me. “What, uh… what are you doing?”

He glanced up from his phone, undeniably and obscenely pretty, even acting like a prick. A few messy wisps of his dark hair, trimmed on the sides and longer at the top, fluttered around his bright chestnut eyes. “You had Drake in here last night,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You want Ebony creeping in again without one of us here?”

I stared at him, a frown creasing my expression as he glanced back down to his phone, tapping on the screen a few times like I wasn’t even there.

A million anxious thoughts tumbled through my mind at once.

This was his house, right? I guess if he wanted to stay here, that was fine.

But Drake had asked—had even taken that couch when I told him he didn’t need to.

Still, Rook had offered me his signature. Maybe… maybe he just thought that meant something. If he did, I should go with that.

But…Drakehad asked.

“You aren’t just sleeping in my bed.”

Fuck.

Why did I say that?

If Rook wanted to literally climb into my bed on day three, why would I say no? Wasn’t that kind of the goal?

I clutched the hem of my sleeves anxiously as he finally shut his phone off and tossed it onto the nightstand like it was his own.

“You might have the others fooled.” He said with a half smile. “But not me.”

I released my hands, suddenly more alert. “What does that mean?”

Rook shrugged, brows raising like it was obvious. “Don’t go thinking I believe you’re different from the rest of them just because you have Ebony and Drake all fucked up.”

“What?” I asked.

He grinned.

I opened my mouth to speak, but cut off as his eyes wandered down in an overt appraisal of my body.

My fury spiked, and I tried to get a hold of it.

No, Vex.Not now. He was the only one who’d told me he might give me a signature.

But this was…wrong.I’d taken too many blows from this pack. This one—my mate looking at me like I was nothing more than a piece of meat—this was my cracking point.

“Get. Out.” I pointed my finger at the door, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice.

From fury, or heartbreak, I wasn’t sure.

He barked a laugh, eyes snapping to my face like I was joking.

Ishouldbe fucking joking.

“I mean it.” A moment of silence followed.

His eyebrows climbed his forehead as no punchline came. “No you don’t,” he said.

What?

---