“We’ve got things to talk about.”
“What things?”
I’m confused.
Very, very confused.
I’m also distracted.
By his biceps.
Because they’re flexed right now. Taut and bulging.
And that’s because his arms are folded across his chest as he casually stands by my window, his hip propped against it, his ankles crossed.
As if we’re having a normal conversation.
As if this is a regular occurrence.
Whatin the fuckis going on?
“For starters,” he rumbles, unfolding his arms and pushing off the window, “let’s talk about how we have so much in common.”
“What?”
He takes a step toward me. “How you live in my house.”
I glance down at his boots before looking up and taking a step back. “This isn’t your house. This is your family’s house.”
Another step forward. “How you work for my family.”
I take another step back. “My parents work for your family.”
“How that dress you’re wearing right now,” he motions with a jerk of his chin, “was bought with my money.”
“It’s your parents’ money thatmyparents have earned. Through hard work. Which you probably don’t understand the meaning of.”
My dig doesn’t faze him, however.
His expression is unmoved as he takes yet another step toward me. “How the cake that you had last night was bought from my money too.”
I’m forced to take another step back. “What? That’s… How did you…”
I did have a cake last night.
And well, since my mom was super busy with her job, she didn’t have time to bake so she bought me one from the bakery, promising that she’d bake for me next weekend. But how did he know that? How…
“And the little party you’re planning to have tomorrow,” he goes on, “with your little school friends, my money’s gonna pay for that too.”
Oh God.
How does he…know?
“How do you know all that? How —”
“But most importantly,” he takes that last step, his eyes swirling with something, “how you’re dating my best friend.”
My spine hits the bedpost then, my body coming to a jarring halt.