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Fire burns through my veins. “After you banged on my door like a maniac, demanding to speak with me.”
“Answer the damn question, Brynn,” Jace snaps.
“Go to hell.” I cross my arms over my chest as his normally aqua eyes darken to midnight, and something inside me clicks. A small laugh escapes my lips. “Wait. Are you . . .jealous?”
“Jealous?” He nearly chokes on the word, then covers it with a scoff. “Stanley’s not really my type. I mean, I wouldn’t ever go for a dude because I don’t swing that way. But I’m secure enough in my masculinity to play along. If I were to be jealous of your relationship with a dude, he would definitely have to be effeminate.” He taps his chin like a thought just occurred to him. “Actually, I guess Stanley does match that description.”
I pin him with a glare. “Stanley isnotfeminine.”
“If you say so . . .” He shrugs.
“Whatever,” I grumble, annoyed that he’s somehow been able to goad me and gain the upper hand when he’s the asshole in this scenario. “If you’re done making jokes at my expense, you can go.”
He arches a brow, then braces his hands on the top of the door frame while he leans toward me. The gesture makes my heart race, and I take a step back, needing the distance between us. “I’m not leaving until you tell me if you fucked him.”
I suck in a breath. “Screw you, Jace.”
“You offering?” Jace’s mouth quirks, something dark glittering in his eyes while I stand there, gaping.
“So, it’s okay foryouto say things like that, but Stanley can’t put his hands on me?”
One corner of Jace’s mouth curves into a half grin as he takes a step closer, closing in on me until I’m pressed up against the side of Charlotte’s dresser.
His gaze drops to my mouth while he lays a hand on the piece of furniture behind me, caging me in. I swallow, heart galloping, and for one insane moment, I think he might kiss me.
My back beads with sweat at the thought.
I need to get control of the situation.
I need to remember who I’m talking to.
The enemy.
Mr. Playboy himself.
Teagan’s best friend, and the boy I’ve grown to hate.
But as his scorching gaze flickers over my face, homing in on my lips, I’m finding it hard to remember why I dislike him so much because my body didn’t seem to get the memo.
I inhale, filling my lungs with a cleansing breath. “Not that it’s any of your business,” I say, desperate to break the tension pulling tight between us like a rubber band, “but all we did was kiss.”
His brows pull together and his eyes search mine, as if trying to determine the truth in my words.
I cock a brow, challenging him to contradict me.
“That’s it? You’re not lying because you’re afraid I’ll freak out?”
“Gee. Whyever would I think that?” I ask coyly, and when he takes a step away from me, taking his citrus-pine scent with him, I huff out a relieved breath. “Despite what you might think,” I say with more confidence than I feel, “I’m not afraid of you. And I’m pretty positive that’s all we did because I was there.”
His throat bobs and he runs a hand across his jaw.
I watch mesmerized as it makes a soft scratching sound over his stubble. Part of me wants to reach out and touch it too.
“That son of a bitch,” he hisses under his breath, pulling my gaze away from his jawline.
He takes another step back, out into the hallway, putting more distance between us. A second ago, it was as if he couldn’t get close enough. Now I’m the plague and he’s terrified of catching it. What surprises me most is how I resent it.
“Why? Did he do something?” I ask, suddenly unsure whether the worst part about this encounter are the weird thoughts clanking around the edges of my brain.
