“I’ve wanted you for almost a year,” I murmur, voice low, rough, so fucking honest it almost hurts. “Every time we talked, every time we played together, every time you messaged me first and I knew, for at least a little while, I got to have your attention, I wanted you. And now—”

I swallow hard, forcing the words out even though they feel like they’re cutting me open. “Now you’re here. And this is who you met up with.”

My stomach twists, my body locked up with tension, because I don’t know what she’s going to say, don’t know what she’s thinking, don’t know if she’s about to tell me this was all a mistake.

But she doesn’t look like she thinks this is a mistake. She looks like I just gave her something she wasn’t expecting, something she might actually want. Her fingers twitch, like she’s debating reaching for me again, like she’s seconds away from doing something that’s going to completely undo me.

And then… Of course. Of fucking course. A soft clap sounds from the doorway. I freeze. Haven stiffens beside me. And there, leaning against the frame like he didn’t just waltz in at the worst possible moment, like he doesn’t even slightly care about the fact that he just interrupted something he absolutely should not have been a part of, stands Tate.

His arms are crossed lazily over his chest, his weight shifted onto one leg, his expression neutral except for the unmistakable glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says.

Haven lets out an exhale that’s half a groan, dragging a hand over her face. “Seriously?”

Tate shrugs, pushing off the doorframe with a lazy roll of his shoulders. “Not that Carter would know much about pleasure, right?”

My stomach fucking drops. Heat punches through my chest, up my neck, and into my ears so fast I can feel my entire body locking up, because I knew he wasn’t going to let me have this.

I clench my jaw so tight my teeth might break, my fists curling against my knees, my entire body screaming at me to not let him get under my skin.

Haven reacts first. She tilts her head, slow and deliberate, her lips twitching in a way that makes my stomach twist because I can already tell she’s about to say something reckless. She leans forward slightly, resting her elbow on her knee, voice dripping with the kind of challenge that makes Tate’s smirk widen immediately. “Well,” lifting a brow, studying him like she’s sizing him up. “That sounds like a whole lot of confidence from someone who wasn’t invited into this conversation.”