And yeah, shit, he’s not amused. The arms-crossed stance. The jaw-clench. The barely-there shift in his energy that says he’s seconds away from shutting this whole thing down. And God, I love it.

I push off Tate’s chair, flipping my hair over my shoulder like I’m walking away from a battlefield I just won. “Don’t gas yourself up too much, Tate,” I tease. “I just wanted to see how much of a little bitch you really look like in person.”

Tate laughs, full-bodied, eyes flashing as he watches me turn to leave. “Oh, Haven,” he calls after me. “You have no fucking idea.”

I roll my eyes, stepping out of the room, back toward Carter, who’s still watching me like he’s not sure whether to be irritated or entertained. “Are you actually jealous,” I ask, lifting a brow.

Carter shakes his head immediately. Too fast. “Not jealous.”

I smirk. “You sure?”

His lips press together, his fingers twitching slightly like he wants to touch me, claim me, make sure I don’t forget whose bed I slept in last night. But instead he just sighs. “You really like poking the bear, don’t you?”

I grin, stepping past him, my fingers brushing his stomach just slightly as I pass. “Maybe.” And the way his breath catches, yeah. Maybe I do.

26

Carter

Haven knows exactly what she’s doing. The way she walked past me, her fingers just barely skimming my stomach? And the smirk she tried to hide? Yeah, she fucking knew. I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders, shaking off the way my body is still tense, still wired, still irritated even though I have no fucking reason to be.

Tate’s a prick, that’s nothing new. But Haven? She’s a problem. A small, beautiful, brown-eyed problem who knows exactly how to press my buttons. I love it.

I follow after her, my jaw still tight, my hands twitching at my sides like I don’t know what to do with them.

The thing is though, I don’t get jealous. Not over Tate, not over anyone. I’ve never been in the position to and I don’t get territorial. I don’t get possessive. I don’t get this… whatever the fuck this feeling is curling through my chest right now. But watching her in his room, in his space, teasing him like they weren’t just fucking enemies online, laughing when his chat lost their shit over her being there? I didn’t like that. And the worst fucking part is that I know she did.

I step into the living room just as she flops onto the couch, stretching out like she owns the damn thing, her phone in her hand, a satisfied little smirk playing at her lips. I narrow my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

She doesn’t even look up. “Am I?”