Page 62 of End Game

Ronan takes another sip of coffee with a completely neutral expression.

Asshole.

“I said I didn’t want details.”

“I didn’t give you any.”

This time his smile is unmistakable.

I shake my head, but there’s no ugly twist in my chest, no sudden urge to ask him what they did or stake some ridiculous claim because he got something from her that—in some essence or another—belongs to me.

If anything, there’s a weird hint of competitiveness underneath my amusement.

But it’s not the kind where I need to win.

More like I know exactly what I have with her, and nothing he did on Friday or last night changes it.

I’ve had months with Cami. Ronan is building something entirely different with her, and somehow, I think I finally understand that those two things don’t need to compete for space.

I’m still thinking about that when I hear footsteps behind me.

I know they’re hers without looking.

When I do turn, Cami is standing in the doorway with her hair piled into some kind of beautiful disaster on top of her head, wearing sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt.

The second she sees me, her entire demeanor changes.

“You’re home,” she greets me with a huge smile.

And there it is.

Whatever tiny piece of me spent the last forty-eight hours wondering whether anything would feel different disappears so completely that I almost feel stupid for worrying about it.

I barely set my glass down on the counter before she launches herself at me.

My arms wrap around her automatically, lifting her just enough that her feet leave the floor as she buries her face in my neck.

“Hi, baby,” I whisper.

“You smell like the station.”

I laugh into her hair. “Aren’t you full of compliments this morning?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Intentionally, I didn’t text her very much this shift. I knew she had plans, and I didn’t want to intrude on those either by interrupting or making her feel guilty—not that I really thought she would, but still.

I kiss her temple and hold her for another few seconds before setting her back on her feet, but she doesn’t go anywhere. Her arms stay wrapped around me as she tips her face up, and I kiss her properly.

There’s nothing tentative about it. Nothing that feels like she is apologizing or needs to reassure me or prove something after being with Ronan.

It’s just us—familiar and easy and ours.

Something settles that I hadn’t realized was unsettled.

When she pulls away, she studies my face for a moment. “You okay?”