I turned my attention back to Denny. Maybe she hadn’t kissed him, hadn’t fucked him, but she still hadn’t mentioned that he was here. How long had he been here? Why was he here? Some of the heat returned to my voice when I said, “What are you doing here?” I’d told him the truth when he was in my position…it was his turn now.

Denny sighed, then shook his head. “Look, I don’t want to be involved with this. I’m here for work, nothing more. I told her to tell you way back in February that I was here, but she was scared to…” He sighed again, while I stewed over his words. February? Fuck. “But that’s between the two of you and I don’t want to be here to watch you discuss it.”

I considered his words…and believed him. Kiera might have reason to lie still—if she thought the truth would end us—but Denny…he didn’t have a single reason to lie to me. If he wanted Kiera back, he’d tell me, especially if telling me improved his chances of getting back together with her. He had no reason to tell me he was only here for work, other than to state a fact. And he honestly looked like he’d rather be anywhere but this living room. He didn’t seem to want to fight me for her, he just wanted to be gone. I nodded at him, accepting his answer.

He brushed past me, his dark eyes never leaving mine. Once he was well clear of me, his gaze shifted to Kiera. “Thanks for listening, Kiera. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Those words made a pang of something dark, painful, and spiteful rip through me. Call you tomorrow? Seriously? Denny glanced at me a final time before grabbing his jacket and leaving. I glared at him the entire time. While I appreciated his honesty, that comment was hitting every last nerve I had. What the hell was going on here? Why hadn’t either of them told me about it?

The anger reignited as I turned back around to face Kiera. “He’ll call you tomorrow? What? Are you guys…buddies now?” I’d dealt with their phone friendship. That had seemed relatively safe, but this…

Kiera’s face was soft, calm as she shook her head. Her hand was on my chest, and her fingers trailed down my stomach. My muscles tightened as her hand drifted lower. I tried to push back the electric sensation of her touching me, tried to block the desire that was resurfacing. It was nearly impossible to not be turned on by her; even angry, a part of me would always want her.

“Yes, we are,” she said. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he was here. I didn’t know how you’d react.”