“Would you stop whispering in Gray’s ear and play already?” Mako says.
“I have to whisper because I can’t do it in his head,” she complains.
“Right. This ’fect over here.” Mako chortles. “I don’t know how anyone lives their life without telepathy.”
“Very quietly,” Gray says cheerfully. “I prefer it actually.”
I try to focus on my cards. I have a ten, two nines, and a four.
Saint flips over the table cards. Two, six, ten. I want the ten, so I slap my discard on it—the four—at the same time Gray throws down a jack, stealing the card.
“Fuck off,” I grumble.
“Such a sore loser,” he tsks.
I grab a new card from the deck, and it’s a third nine, so fuck you, Grayson. He did me afavorby stealing that ten.
As the round progresses, I become more and more annoyed with Gray and Karra’s antics. Saint gives me a cautious look, as if he can sense the tension inside me.
My gaze keeps drifting toward them. It’s Gray’s turn now, but he’s busy listening to whatever she’s whispering to him.
“Are weevergoing to finish this round?” I grind out louder than I mean to.
There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence. Saint raises a brow at me.
“Didn’t realize we were in such a hurry,” Gray says.
“It’s just…” My frustration mounts. “We’re playing a game. So play the game.”
“Wow, kids, let’s not keep Darlington waiting,” Gray cracks, then throws down a queen to steal my ten. Prick.
I slap my next card down a little too violently.
“You keen?” Karra inquires, looking amused. Meanwhile, her hand is drawing little circles on Gray’s chest.
“God, do you two ever stop? You’re like one of those couples that’s so desperate for validation, you need to show off every second to prove you’re hot for each other.”
My outburst is greeted by stunned silence.
Oh fuck.
I sound unhinged.
When Karra’s face flushes, I feel like a total jerk for what I said.
“Sorry,” I mutter, as heat floods my own cheeks. “Turns out I’m not in the mood for games tonight.” I hastily lay down my cards and scrape my chair back. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”
On my way to you. Need to talk.
I’m not surprised when Gray’s message appears on my comm not long after I stomp into my quarters. I’m still strung so tight, I feel like I’m going to snap. I hate feeling out of control. I do stupid things when I’m out of control. Cross warned me about it once. He accused me of being a firestorm, said I’d burn everything in my path if I didn’t learn to restrain my emotions.
Emotions that are bubbling dangerously close to the surface when the knock sounds on my door.
I let Gray in, and he brings his own wave of tension inside the room.
“What the hell was that?” he asks irritably.
I don’t play dumb. “I’m sorry. I’m on edge today.”
