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“You got home late,” he said, changing the subject. “Real late.”
I sneered at him. “Fuck you, stalker.”
With a sigh, Drake pulled something from behind him and tossed it at my feet. It took me a second to recognize what it was:
The still-crumpled Santa lingerie, taken from my bag.
“What the everliving fuc—”
“So you have a boyfriend,” he cut me off, his face going all smug. “That was fast, no?”
I fumed at him, so angry I was at a loss for words.
“It’s not a big deal, Sloane. Looks like we’ve both moved on.”
“You moved on while we were still together,” I finally grunted. “Huge difference.”
“Yes, well that wasn’t ideal,” Drake admitted, as if just noticing that little fact for the first time. “It was… shitty of me.”
“You bet your ass it was.”
“I regret it, and I would’ve apologized had you given me the chance.”
“Drake…”
The way I said his name left no doubt as to what was going to happen next. I was on the verge of screaming. The edge of doing something we’d both regret.
“Get the FUCK out of my apartment!” I seethed.
“Ourapartment,” he corrected.
“Right now,” I reiterated, “before I call the police. Before I go totally fucking crazy on you. Before—”
He held his hand up in concession. As he did, he slowly rose.
“I’m going to leave,” he said placatingly. “Just for tonight, anyway. But tomorrow I’m coming back here with my stuff, and you’re not going to be able to stop me.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Sloane, be reasonable,” he said. “You don’t just ‘get’ the place because I cheated. And you can’t legally keep me out.”
I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. To laugh into his face that he was wrong, so fucking wrong, and then kick him down the staircase. But in the back in my mind, there was a nagging doubt. A sour taste in the pit of my stomach that told me somehow, in some way… the asshole was probably right.
“We can both stay here,” he said as he made his way to the doorway, “at least until one of us finds another place to go. We don’t have to be friends. We don’t even have to talk.”
I watched him go, slithering toward the door like the snake he actually was. He opened it to let himself out, then paused in the threshold.
“You have a boyfriend too,” he said again, nodding toward the sex-soaked Santa outfit, “and you don’t see me freaking out.” His placating smile twisted into a smirk of disapproval.
“So let’s try to be mature about this,” he said, as he closed the door.
Twenty-Two
SLOANE
Sleep wasn’t an option, as tired as I was.
Neither was staying.
