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I raise my brows. “Hm?”

“You said his message was sorry and sent at midnight. How do you know that?” Threat seeps into her tone, and I shrug innocently. “Cole.”

“Lucky guess.”

“Lucky guess my ass!” She thumps down beside me, gripping my shoulder to pin me on my back. “Tell me!” I meet her eye, giving her a pointed look, hoping I don’t have to actually say the words. “Oh my god, have you been spying on me?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

Her eyes widen. “What’s the other option? Did you … did you scare Christopher away? Are you the reason so many men ghost me?” She screeches and then hits my bicep before I can even respond. “You asshole! You dump me, but no one else can have me? What did you say to him?”

I catch her fist before she can hit me again. “You didn’t even like him. You were on your phone during most of your dates, and he made fun of your rice collection. That was too fucking far.”

Her shoulders slump. “I know, right? I think it’s cute.”

“It is cute.”

She colors in rice and arranges it in glass frames to create famous scenes from movies. It’s fucking adorable, and I had to stop myself from stealing one the first time I broke into her house.

That realization seems to dawn on her. “You’ve been in my house? Oh my god, you’re a stalker!”

I sit up and she falls back onto her ass in an attempt to scramble away. “I’m protecting you.”

“I’m sure a jury won’t see it that way, you freak! That’s it, I’m texting Christopher the moment I’m home. I’m gonna clear everything up, and maybe he’ll learn to love my rice.”

I scowl. I already love her rice.

Besides, Christopher was a dick. And he was married. Sunday clearly had no clue because he hid it well, but I found out. I’ve kept an eye on her over the years, and sure, I may have found myself a little closer than acceptable whenever she was dating someone, but I was looking out for her.

Now that she’s close though, and I’ve felt her again, tasted her again, I’m suddenly fucking furious at the idea of her being with anyone else. I don’t want her to erase our kiss, especially with a dick weed like Christopher.

“Sure. Text him. His phone might be a little out of range, though.” I lay down and turn my back to her. “A Ouija board might be more effective.”

She’s quiet. A little too quiet.

Shit.

Why do I always have to have the last fucking word?

Her voice is small. “You killed him?”

Fuck, I did not play this right. I face her, sitting up. “Let me explain⁠—”

Sunday darts to her feet and scurries to the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind her.

“Good fucking job, Cole,” I mumble, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Maybe doing what I do has erased my ability to read a fucking room. This isn’t the way to reveal how much I’ve obsessed over her. In fact, I probably should have erred on the side of God damn caution and not told her a thing about how close I’ve stayed over the last decade.

I sigh, get up and follow her, opening the bathroom door because there is no lock to keep me out. When Sunday spots me, she crawls into the shower and closes the glass door, huddling in the corner, hugging her knees.

I could walk right in, but she obviously needs to gain some control over this situation, so I remain on the other side of the glass.

“I’m sorry, Sunday.”

“Go away.”

“He was married. He had a whole other family,” I explain. “He made you the other woman.”