I’m somewhere in between. Between watching Haven out of the corner of my eye. Between pretending like I’m paying attention to the show she picked, and trying not to think about last night. Between trying not to think about how badly I want her again.A knock on the door pulls me out of thoughts.

I freeze mid-bite, exchanging a glance with Tate, whose brows tilt up in slight interest. Haven stops chewing, tilting her head. “You expecting someone?” she asks.

I swallow, setting my plate down. “No.”

Tate shrugs, clearly unbothered. “Guess you better find out who it is then.” I roll my eyes but push off the couch, making my way toward the door. The second I pull it open, I immediately regret it. Standing on my porch is Hunter. The last person I need showing up right now.

“Dude,” he grins, clapping a hand on my shoulder before I can say a word. “You’re alive.”

I blink. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Hunter leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. “Came to check on you. You’ve been MIA all wee—.” His eyes wander past me, catching movement inside, and then he grins wider. “Oh, Ruth shit my bad.”

I turn, just in time to see Haven step into the hallway, plate still in her hand, curiosity in her eyes.

“Oh,” he says again, this time with way too much fucking meaning.

I exhale through my nose, already bracing for whatever the fuck is about to happen, before stepping aside and gesturing Hunter in. “Yeah, yeah, come in.”

Hunter grins, stepping past me and immediately locking eyes with Haven.

“So this is the famous Haven?” He gives a slow nod, eyes glancing between us, the knowing grin on his face making me want to shove him right back out the door. “Damn, dude. I get it now.”

Haven tilts her head slightly, offering a small smile. “And you’re Hunter?”

“In the flesh.” He extends a hand, and Haven shakes it, looking mildly amused at the way he’s openly sizing me up, like he’s assessing just how far gone I am for her. Before I can even attempt to steer the conversation into neutral territory, a snicker comes from the living room. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Oh, look,” Tate says, dragging out the words as he leans back into the couch, arms stretched across the top like he’s the king of the fucking castle. “It’s the local golden retriever handler, coming to check in. How precious.”

Hunter’s smile drops instantly. “Oh, great. The asshole brother is still an asshole.”