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Unfortunately, neither did I.
We talked about it a little more but, still unable to reason it all through, we decided to let it go for now. I walked him to the door and opened it wide. Seeing a certain person stood in the hall, their fist raised to knock, Coop and I both went very still.
CHAPTER EIGHT
(Ryder)
I hadn’t even had a chance to knock on the door when it swung open. There was Coop, ready to leave. And there was Maya in a fucking robe, her hair wet, looking far too beautiful … and no doubt naked beneath that robe.
I clenched my fists. Motherfucker.
Unable to bite back a growl, I stalked forward. No, she owed me no loyalty. No, she didn’t officially belong to me. And yeah, this asshole probably had more of a right to her than I did, given they were dating. But none of that stopped a black jealousy from blossoming in the pit of my stomach; none of it put a chokehold on the angry possessiveness that pounded through me.
I didn’t realise I was advancing on the little shit until Maya slipped between us and jabbed her finger into my chest. “Don’t even,” she warned.
Coop raised his hands. “I didn’t sleep with her. She’d showered before I got here.”
She whirled to face him. “Coop, you don’t need to explain anything to—”
“I’ll speak to you tomorrow, Maya.” Coop quickly skirted around us and hurried out of the apartment, pulling the door closed as did so.
She slowly and stiffly turned back to face me, her mouth tight, her eyes blazing.
I forced my back teeth to unlock. “Was he telling the truth?”
“Just how is that your business?”
“I need to know.” It would be worse not to.
“No, you don’t. What you need is to butt out of—”
“Did he fuck you? Yes or no?” I demanded, my tone clipped.
Her nostrils flared. “You have some goddamn nerve, Kingsley. Where exactly do you get off on thinking I owe you any explanations? I owe you shit. He and I are dating—”
“But it’s my cock that’s been making you come.”
“So? That’s just physical. He and I might not have slept together yet, but he’s giving me more than you are. He talks to me. He shares. He asks me questions. He shows interest in me. You don’t give a flicker of a shit who I am, what I want, what I need, or anything goddamn else. You only want to fuck me, so don’t think that doing it makes you more significant than him. That’s just sex.”
She couldn’t really think I had absolutely no interest in her as a person. No way. “We talked plenty in the past. We talked for fucking hours sometimes.”
“Yeah, you talk a lot when you feel like it. But not about the things that matter. Nobody really notices that. They don’t notice how you purposely create a situation where you’re the main listener. You ask them questions—nothing too personal, because that might invite them to do the same—and flatter them with your ‘interest’ in them, so they don’t often see that you said little about yourself.”
I couldn’t deny that she was bang on the mark. Very few people had ever called me on it. But I didn’t do it on a conscious level. I didn’t deliberately set out to control each conversation and contribute so little. Not anymore. It had simply become instinctive after a while.
“I’m not judging you for being so self-contained,” she went on. “I’m just making the point that we didn’t really talk. Not in a way that helped us get to know each other. We talk even less now. And when we do, it’s me offering up info, not you. And hey, it’s okay that you’re not looking for us to build anything. I knew that from the start. I can understand it. But you don’t get to make out that your using me for sex means anything to either of us.”
Okay, that remark pissed me off. “I don’t fucking use you. I have never used you.”
“What else would you call banging me to scratch an itch? You don’t have to feed me bullshit, Ryder. I’m a big girl. I have no hang-ups about casual sex. I know that’s all this was.”
I tensed at her use of past tense, and my stomach dropped. She exhaled a tired sigh, and I knew what she was going to say before she said it.
“I’m done, Ryder.” The words were shaky. Sad. Firm.
My pulse jumped. “Maya—”
“I don’t know why you keep coming back to me. I’m not going to ask, because I have a feeling I won’t like the answer. But I need you to go, and I need you not to seek me out again.”
My gut tightening, I went to speak, but she slammed up a hand.
“I don’t want to hear it. I really don’t.” Her eyes glistened. “I can’t do this anymore. You have to go, you have to stay away.”
