I try to walk away, and he hurries to fall into step with me. Still shirtless, way too close, energy wrapping around me in a delicious way that makes me want to give in. Already. Two seconds after I decided to give myself breathing room from him.

“Other than the whole being on the run for my life thing, sure.” I abruptly change my direction to get away from him, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back. Reluctantly, I force myself to meet his eyes, and it pulls a shadow of his goofy grin from him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For getting us into this mess.”

I frown because he sounds like he believes that. “I don’t think you get to take all the blame.”

“Well, if I’d never shot you⁠—”

“Then someone else would have, and they probably would have done a better job of it.” I should reassure him, but I’m not going to. No more playing into that connection I pathetically want to have with him.

“Maybe.”

I go to walk away again.

“Can you … just …”

“What?”

That smile is gone, and he’s chewing on his bottom lip as he looks me over. “You’re mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m so confused.”

The most stupid part is that he’s being genuine. He is confused. The way he can be confused about why I might be mad over him using me and then fawning all over the love of his life right in front of my face deserves to go in a parody somewhere. I don’t have to want a relationship with the guy to at least not want to see that.

I’m all for sex and quick hookups, but that doesn’t mean I actively want to know I’ve been used.

“Don’t worry about it. Soon enough, this will be over, and you won’t need to think about me again.”

“You mean … you don’t want to be friends when this is over?”

Goddamn that wounded tone. I could kick him. He’s not allowed to make me feel bad about wanting distance when he’s the whole reason I want it in the first place. “No.” I shrug. “But we’ll probably be dead, so it’s not like it will make a difference.”

His face falls, gaze dropping to the dirt between us and hand finally releasing my arm. I didn’t even realize he was still holding it, but now the grip is gone, my bare skin is more aware of what it lost than what it had. “I thought we were friends,” he says.