I used to see a future with him, of us together.
Did he not have that same vision?
I don’t dare ask. What would it matter anyhow? We’re broken up.
I fold my hands in my lap, staring down at the bedsheets. It’s easier than dealing with his intense darkened gaze that is like a molten fire heating me to the core.
I don’t want to have feelings for Ashton Rinaldi.
Not after how things ended. I want to hate him. To scream at him. To tell him to go get fucked, but I also would never forgive him or myself if that happened.
Because he owns my heart.
“Would you say yes if I proposed?”
His question catches me by surprise. “What?”
“Would you say yes if I proposed? Right here. Right now?” He stands, and I swear to God if he gets down on one knee, that scream earlier will be nothing compared to the sound I’ll make that will blow out his eardrums.
“Don’t you dare,” I seethe. I yank on his shirt, dragging him back up to his feet. “You don’t get to pretend to be madly in love with me when?—”
“Pretend?” Ashton stands in front of me, towering above. “Do you think anything I’ve ever done with you is pretend?”
I open my mouth and shut it.
No, of course not.
He knows that as well.
“Never known you to be silent,” he says, tilting his head, staring down at me. It’s a challenge; he’s goading me.
I don’t let him provoke me into falling for whatever game or trap he’s set. “I’m just not giving you the satisfaction.”
“Do you think I’m happy right now?” Ashton asks, appalled.
I know he’s not even the least bit thrilled, and any hint of a smile is more out of spite or maybe anger than anything else. Amusement, at best, but happy, hardly.
“Never said you were happy.” I purse my lips, glaring up at him, trying to make it clear that I’m pissed at him, and that damn list keeps growing.
If I had a list…
I don’t have one; that would be weird, but the number of reasons he’s irritated me this evening is off-the-charts.
“I won’t be until this gets resolved,” he says, gesturing between us.
Does he think I’m just going to cave and give him what he wants? “Well, don’t hold your breath.”
Ashton leans his head closer, his face practically in mine. “I’m not stupid enough to think you’d budge an inch.”
I inhale sharply and push him away, standing. He’s in my personal space, and when he does that, I can’t think clearly!
Inwardly, I scream.
Outwardly, I’m a bundle of nerves.
How easily he irritates me. It’s annoying.
“I never loved Harper,” Ashton says, offering me space. He even takes a step back, letting me have the bed, but I don’t sit back down. I opt to stand. If he’s standing, I’m standing. I don’t like him towering over me when we’re in a fight.
