He’s sprawled across the couch, one leg kicked up on the coffee table, his phone in one hand, completely at ease like he didn’t just make it his personal mission to fuck with me tonight. I shut the door harder than necessary. “You think this is funny?”

Tate doesn’t look up right away, just continues scrolling, like he’s got all the time in the world. “Little vague, don’t you think?” he finally mutters. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

I don’t take the bait. I don’t let myself get pulled into whatever twisted game he’s playing. Instead, I step forward, pulse still running too fast from earlier. “You followed us.”

At that, he finally glances up, one eyebrow lifting. “Mm, did I?”

I scoff, dragging a hand through my hair. “Don’t bullshit me, Tate. You were standing right outside the café.”

Tate tilts his head slightly, considering. Then, with that slow, infuriating smirk, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, if you weren’t so damn quick to run, she would’ve met me already.”

My hands curl into fists, because this is what he wanted. This exact reaction. The way my entire body bristles, the way my jaw tics, the way my blood heats with something close to rage.

And it pisses me off even more that I can’t shake it. I step closer, towering over him, my voice low, controlled, dangerous. “You don’t get to play games with her,” I grit out. “She’s not some pawn you get to fuck with just because you’re bored.”

Tate leans back, unbothered. “Who said I was bored?”

I narrow my eyes. Something about the way he says it makes my stomach turn.This isn’t just about messing with me. It’s about Haven.
I don’t know what he wants from her. But I know I’m not going to let him have it.

Tate is still watching me, sitting there like this is just another night, like he didn’t just insert himself into a situation he had no business being in, like he isn’t just waiting for me to lose my shit.

I inhale slowly, “she’s not yours to mess with,” I say, voice low but not as steady as I want it to be.

Tate just slowly hums, dragging his fingers along his jaw. “You say that like she’s yours.”

My jaw tics. Because he knows damn well she’s not. Not yet. And I don’t trust him not to make a move just to prove a point.

Tate shifts, tilting his head like he’s analyzing me, peeling back layers of shit I don’t want him to see. “You scared, little brother?”

My teeth grind together. “You love saying that, don’t you?”

Tate’s smirk deepens. “What, stating facts? Plus, two minutes is two minutes, Carter.”