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“Bad shit happens to everyone, Rocco. Not just you, not just your brother, not just werewolves. You got dealt a shitty hand—choose to survive anyway. That’s not an excuse to be a damned bastard to me, or anyone else.”
Shaking my head, I stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel off a hook before throwing the bathroom door open and striding out.
Ford was waiting in the hall, arms folded. His gaze was trained on the ceiling, and I wasn’t sure whether he was looking away for his sake, Ebony’s, mine, or Rocco’s.
“Your wolf won’t let you get far from him,” Ford murmured to me.
“Then she can go to hell,” I snarled back.
I felt her pulling on me, though, as I stepped into Rocco’s room and slammed the door behind me. My spine itched as she threatened to take control, painful tingles burning my muscles a bit.
After quickly throwing one of Rocco’s t-shirts over myself—I’d claimed a few of them, and wasn’t giving them back even after I left—I grabbed my duffel bag from the closet, and shoved all of my clothes inside it within a matter of seconds. My wardrobe had been shrinking, not growing, and I’d had a feeling Rocky had been hiding the shirts and shorts of mine that he hated the most.
The pain in my spine vanished completely as the door slammed open, and then shut again.
Ignoring the man in the room, I didn’t turn around to face him until he was right behind me.
His fingers landed possessively on my hip, and he stepped around to the front of me. His gigantic hand caught both of my small ones, and those gorgeous blue eyes of his were so hot they threatened to burn my damned soul.
Before I could yank my fingers from his grip, he said the one thing that surprised me enough to make me wait.
“I’m sorry.”
I blinked.
That… wasn’t what I expected him to say.
“I was out of it, and angry. Seeing Zed look at you when I know you’re already closer to the other guys than you are to me…” He let out a slow breath. “I overreacted, and I’m sorry. We got off on the wrong foot, and I’ve been in a shitty mood, and I’m sorry.”
Sheesh, how many apologies was that?
Enough to make me question how much I hated him, at least.
“Is this where you ask if we can start over?” I drawled, pulling my hands from his grip. He let them go, and his lips curved upward.
“Why would I want to start over? We’ve been snuggling for months, and my damned wolf turned my life into a porno.”
I rolled my eyes. “A porno would have sex, and all you’ve seen is nudity.”
Turning, I reached back into the closet and grabbed two pairs of my shoes.
“What would I call it, then?” he countered. “A constant strip-tease? A living boudoir photo shoot?”
“You’ve been living with a woman who isn’t ashamed of her body; no need to give it a dirty name.” I put my last two pairs of shoes into my bag, and noticed it was less full than it had been a moment ago.
Frowning, I looked at the closet—and found Rocco hanging up my clothes.
Dammit.
“I’m leaving,” I reminded him.
“We’re going to have a calm, rational conversation first,” he countered. “After you’ve put on pants.”
I scoffed at him. “Go to hell.”
“Underwear, at least?”
Flipping him the bird, I walked back into the closet and grabbed the clothes Rocco had put back. When I carried them back to the duffel bag, I blinked down at the place I’d left it.
Gone.
Definitely gone.
Glancing back at the closet, I found Rocco putting everything away just as quickly as I’d gotten it out.
“Damn you,” I snarled. “You’re the only asshole who would ask a half-naked woman to put on more clothes.”
“I want to have a conversation for five minutes without staring at your legs in hopes that you’ll move them and I’ll catch a sight of more of you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Does that make me a bastard?”
I opened my mouth, and then closed it. After a few seconds, I finally agreed, “Fine. Five minutes. Go. I’m not putting on pants, though.”
