“You’re quiet today,” Kael said.

My hands stopped moving.

“You haven’t said much,” I countered.

“I just said I like the music.”

I rolled my eyes, pursing my lips together. “Bravo for having good taste in music?”

“Wow. Attitude is strong today,” he said in a playful tone.

“Sorry, I’m tired and hungover.” I’d thought of the easiest excuse. “You saw how much I had.”

He was quiet for a few beats of the song.

Kael’s hand shot up from under the blanket, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. I definitely wasn’t expecting him to touch me. It made me take a step away, but not so far that he had to let go. His fingers were as warm as a towel out of the heater, pressed against my pulse. I knew it was pounding under his fingerprints. My insecurities told me he was searching for a weak spot.

I had so many things to say. So many things to ask. But my thoughts were blocking my words. I didn’t have a clue of what he had locked away in that head of his. I didn’t know where to begin processing everything about him, especially what happened last night. I genuinely didn’t know if I had created something in my head and was reading the entire situation wrong. The more I swiped through the memories of the night, the more blurry they became.

“Look.” He sat up, still gently holding my wrist, his thumb brushing my palm. His touch made me dizzy, and I thought for a moment he might reassure me with some actual answers.

“I’m sorry that I left last night. Something came up and I had to go. I had to be there.”

I freed my arm from his grip. “Something you can’t talk about? Why can’t you tell me what was going on?”

His brow raised. “I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it.” He looked down at his hands. I wasn’t sure if that made it worse or better that he didn’t think about how that made me feel.

“I’m, um, not the best at this. I don’t usually get into confrontation with my friends. And if I did, we would handle it the way soldiers do—physically, until someone apologizes.”

“How mature.” I rolled my eyes. Combat soldiers were forever mentally sixteen when it comes to fighting. I knew they were trained to be that way, but it didn’t make it less obnoxious.

“I’ve talked to you more than ninety percent of the people I know,” he said, leaning back on his elbows, putting more distance between us.

I started pacing around the small room. Friends? Even though I knew damn well we were just that, if that.