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That sick feeling grew when I realised Neville was staring at me with a stricken expression.

“Oh crap,” he croaked, darting a look at Rafe’s house. Guilt filled his eyes. I recognised it immediately, because I was suddenly feeling it too, deep in the pit of my stomach, as realisation slowly dawned.

I wet my lips. “Are you saying—”

“I’m not talking to you anymore.” Neville lunged for his car door handle again. I quickly blocked it, because no goddamn way was I letting him leave now.

“Had Rafe never—”

“Lalalala, I’m not listening! Not listening! I’m just going to keep talking so I can’t hear you!” Neville gave up trying to reach his door and ran around the hood of his car, yanking open the passenger side door.

“Oh hell no,” I growled, striding after him. “You ain’t leaving yet, Neville.”

“You’re acting like a serial killer again!” He shut the door and slammed his fist down on the lock, then clambered across to the driver’s seat.

Grunting in irritation, I leaned my palms on the hood and glared at him through the windshield. “I know you can still hear me, Neville.” I was acting a little unhinged, so I tried to smooth my expression back into a charming smile. “Look. Neville—Can I call you Nev?”

“Leave me alone!” He turned on the engine. “I’m not telling you anything.”

I growled. “I just want to know—”

The hood suddenly jerked out from under my hands as he started reversing off the driveway. I stumbled, lips peeling back in a snarl as I quickly righted myself and glared at the car, squinting when its headlights pierced my eyes.

Neville backed onto the road and lowered his window.

“Fuckboy!” he yelled, but it was kind of timid, like he was scared to put his whole chest into it. It still made me bristle. Then his arm appeared out the window and swung forcefully.

I didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, and I didn’t have time to react before something crunchy nailed me in the chest. Wetness seeped through my shirt. Neville clapped a hand over his mouth, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. I slowly looked down and saw raw egg dripping gooily down my front, the yolk leaving a long trail of yellow on my white T-shirt. Pieces of shell clung to the fabric, the rest splattered on the ground by my feet.

That little shit had just thrown an egg at me.

My head whipped back up as my nostrils flared in outrage.

“Neville,” I growled threateningly as I started striding down the driveway toward his car. I was definitely acting at least somewhat unhinged at this point, but he’d just thrown a fucking egg at me.

I heard him squeak before he hit the gas, his car shooting forward. Chest heaving, I stared after it for a few seconds, then turned and strode all the way back up the driveway and right onto Rafe’s porch, intent on hammering on his front door until he answered.

With my fist raised and poised to knock, I realised all the lights were off downstairs. I faltered, slowly lowering my hand as my irritation abruptly faded and the sick, guilty feeling in my gut returned. Worsened.

Had the other night really been Rafe’s first time with another guy?

I swallowed and took a step back, rubbing a hand over my chest until I remembered the fucking egg and grimaced as I pulled my yolk- and albumen-covered fingers away.

I hadn’t realised. I hadn’t thought about it. When he’d started watching me at night and then tried to kiss me, I’d just figured I’d always been wrong in assuming he was straight. Looking back now, I realised there were signs I’d missed that night, and I cringed as I shoved a hand through my hair, then bit back a curse when I yet again remembered the fucking egg too late.

Shit. Yeah, there’d been signs. Signs I hadn’t thought about at the time, because I’d been too horny to take a second and realise what they might’ve meant.

How hesitant he’d seemed at first. How much his hand had been trembling when I’d shoved it down my pants—not with overwhelming lust, like I’d so arrogantly assumed, but probably with nerves. How stunned he’d seemed by the sensation of my cock pinned against his. How shocked and vulnerable his cry had been when I made him come.

My chest ached, so I rubbed it again with my egg-covered hand as I took another step back from the door, brows pinching. I winced when I remembered what Neville had said.

“It was his first time and you strolled out ten fucking seconds after nutting.”

Fuck. I had. I’d just figured… we’d both gotten what we wanted, and that he was probably eager to go to bed after having a nice orgasm. He’d still looked overly pale and a little hungover, and it wasn’t like Rafe was ever a big talker.

Damn. I’d fucked up.

Bad.