Page 17 of Forever Relentless

“So you faked your identity?”

“I . . .”

Noah shrugged again. “I don’t care how you got in here,” he told me flatly. “I care if it blows up my situation.”

I nodded sharply. “Yeah, you said.”

“If Tiffany knew Mason, how did he get pulled into this? Whatever this is?”

So now he went straight in there? I didn’t like how he kept switching tactics. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m a really good listener.”

“I’m a really shitty storyteller.”

Noah smirked, and as I held his stare, he didn’t look away. “I got all night, Briar.”

“Do you?” I looked outside. “How do you know I don’t have someone coming over?”

He genuinely looked like I’d just insulted his intelligence. “You just came home, you haven’t unpacked—”

“And whose fault is that?” I demanded. “You barge in here—”

“I didn’t barge, I walked in. Calmly. You invited me.”

“The fuck I did!”

“I like this Briar better; the other one was quieter. Hiding. You’re feisty.”

I gaped at him. “You’re complimenting me?”

“Was I?” He looked me over carefully. Slowly. “Should I be?”

My head drew back so quickly I bumped it off the window. “Ow. And no, you definitely should not be.”

He crossed his arms as he studied me. “Why?”

“Because if you think you can flirt with me, forget it. Not interested. You’re younger than me, for starters.”

“Say I am flirting with you, which I wasn’t. I’m younger? By maybe three years. Shit excuse. What else?”

“You’re a footballer.”

He waited.

“You guys are notoriously . . . assholes.”

“So your brother’s an asshole?”

I barked out a laugh. “Yes! He most definitely can be!”

His lips twitched, but he nodded. “So . . . I’m younger, a footballer, not an asshole if I do say so myself, and . . . is that it?”

“No, that’s not it.” What the heck was happening right now? How had the conversation become this? “Stop flirting with me!”

“I wasn’t. I already told you that.”

“Then stop being . . .” I waved my hand up and down frantically. “This!”