Page 61 of End Game

Which is a hell of a thought to have while I watch him add creamer to his coffee.

I take a sip of orange juice before leaning back against the counter.

“So…” I trail off—that’s all I say—just one word.

After a moment, Ronan lifts an eyebrow. “So?”

Asshole.

“You and Cami have a good time Friday night?”

His expression barely changes, maybe a little more guarded. “We did.”

I wait for more, but apparently that’s all I’m getting. “Good talk.”

That makes his mouth twitch into that smirk again. “Do you want details?”

“No.” The answer comes out fast enough that he laughs.

Pointing at him with my orange juice glass still in my hand, I affirm, “No. Absolutely not. I do not need details.”

“Then, I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“Neither am I, which is probably the problem.”

I stare down at my glass before feeling like I need to defend myself. “I’m not jealous.”

His expression changes when I look up at him—not much, but enough that I know I finally said something he needs to truly respond to.

“I didn’t think you would be.”

“Neither did I, but I’ve had a long couple of days to wonder if I’d suddenly discover I was wrong when I got home.”

“And?”

I consider my answer seriously because Ronan will know if I give him an easy answer just to end the conversation.

“I don’t think I was wrong,” I pause, still considering my words, “it does feel different now, though.”

His head tilts. “How?”

“More real… I guess.”

He nods once. “That makes sense.”

There’s no immediate reassurance that everything is fine, no attempt to convince me I shouldn’t feel whatever I’m feeling. Just an acknowledgement that there’s probably a difference between theoretically knowing and standing in the kitchen next to him after.

Strangely, that’s all I need from him.

“Where is she?”

“Sleeping,” he answers, then adds, “in her own room.”

I glance at my watch.

“She had a long night,” he answers the unasked question, and his mouth twitches again.

My eyes slowly return to him.