Page 146 of Toxic Kiss

Professional? Fuck that.

I drum my fingers on the table as I stare at Haven, willing her to look up. She doesn’t, and each minute that passes, it annoys me more.

The guys join us, and I have an idea.

“Hey, Ash, tell the driver to take us to the closest strippers.”

The bus goes silent as Haven lifts her head and looks at me.

“Does that bother you?”

Her eyes flare with jealousy, but she casually shrugs.

“Nope, why would it?”

Oh, Haven…you asked for it.

chapter

thirty-seven

“I don’t get annoyed. I get even.” – Cyrus

CYRUS

Haven hasn’t stopped glaring at me. Good.

All she has to do is say yes. Yes, she wants me. Yes, she is jealous. Yes, she wants us to work. Yes. Yes. Yes. Simple.

Instead…Haven is determined to keep me at arm’s length. I can see the door slamming in my face as she tries to ignore her feelings. So, right or wrong…I really don’t give a fuck. I’m going to push her until she cracks wide open and doesn’t just submit. No. She needs to admit it outloud.

I used to want Haven to break to bring her pain. Now I want her to break so she sees that we belong together in this fucking mess. I’ve accepted the inevitable. Now it’s her turn.

Is it a dick move to play on her insecurities? Sure. I know it is. Whatever I need to do, I will.

The red glowing lights of the fancy strip club come into view as we pull into the parking lot, and Eren nudges my arm.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” He keeps his voice low so only I can hear.

I glance at Haven, and she’s holding her pen like a knife, as if she’s thinking of stabbing me. Knowing her, she just may be. I smirk.

“Nope, but who cares if it works?”

“If what works? Driving Haven to murder is not the best way to repair the shit between you,” Eren says, running his hand through his hair.

“Says who? If she’s willing to kill to keep me, then she really loves me.”

It comes out jokingly, but part of me actually loves the idea. That explains my mental state in a nutshell.

“Um…not if it’s you she kills,” Eren says with a snort.

The bus hisses as it rolls to a stop. The guys file out, and if the rest of them know what I’m up to, they don’t show it or argue against it. We used to hit up a bar or a strip club every night after a concert to unwind. Now the party just moves to the hotel if that’s what we want.

Declan pulls in, and I hear him asking the driver why we stopped instead of heading to the hotel.

Ignoring the commotion outside, my focus is on one person.

“Let’s go,” I order, standing by the table.