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“Lurk much?” I snap at him, and he narrows his eyes.
He looks like he wants to kill me, and I don’t blame him.
Now he knows how I felt when he walked into the kitchen whistling like an asshole.
“This was your idea,” I remind him, as I press the elevator button. “Wealltake care of her.”
He looks like he wants to say something, then shakes his head. “What does she need?” he asks instead, keeping his voice low.
“Ice pack. Blankets. Water. Whatever the fuck you can get her,” I say. “Her Heat is coming. The suppressants didn’t work, and she’s burning up.”
The last thing I see is his hateful, envious gaze as the elevator door closes behind us.
