Page 74 of Endgame

Rourke dropped the washcloth on the floor and looked straight into my eyes. “Look at my face and tell me how many fucks you see me giving?” he ordered and I did. There was no way I could look away from him. “None,” he replied, tone gruff. “Because I don’t care, Six.”

“About your girlfriend?” I whispered, heart racing.

“About anything,” he replied before resuming the face touching. He seemed almost obsessed with checking me over. I didn’t understand why.

“Why not?” The question was out of my mouth before I had a chance to take it back.

“Probably because that part of me is broken,” he surprised me by answering. “I don’t work right, Six. I don’t care about people. Haven’t for a long fucking time now.” For once, there was no hint of sarcasm in his voice. Just sadness.

“Why?” My voice was softer, my heart thawing to his confession. “What broke you?”

Rourke took a long time answering my question. In fact, he took so long that I wasn’t sure hewouldanswer. Finally, he whispered, “Trusting people.”

“Oh.”

“And Britt’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

“But she was?”

He nodded. “She was.”

My heart sank.

Why did that hurt so badly?

It shouldn’t hurt so badly.

It was something I already knew.

“I’m hurt that you were kissing her tonight,” I admitted then, voice torn. It wasn’t something I was proud to say out loud, but I had to get it off my chest. “Seeing you with her?” I sighed heavily. “Was hard.”

Rourke stared hard at me for the longest moment before muttering a string of curses. He rubbed his stubble covered jaw with his hand and exhaled a ragged breath. “Goddammit, Six.”

“What?”

“What?” He glared at me with a heated expression. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s the truth,” I admitted. “I hated seeing you with her.”

He leaned closer to me before quickly pulling back. “I don’t need this shit, Six.” His voice was strained, jaw clenched. “Shit.”

“Don’t need what?” I breathed, watching his every move. I was moving closer to his body. I couldn’t stop myself. It was an automatic reaction. Right now, he felt like a magnet, pulling me closer.

“You,” he groaned, still cupping my face. “I don’t need you; coming up in here and fucking everything up.” He sounded almost pained as he gestured between us and moved closer, resting his forehead against mine. “I don’t needthis.”

“Why?” There was that question again. It seemed to be all I could say. I knew I should be mad at him, but I couldn’t muster it up. I was drowning in the feel of having his hands on my face and his brow pressed to mine.

“Because,” Rourke whispered, but didn’t offer anything further. His mouth was less than an inch from mine.

“Because?” My breathing hitched; awareness of how close I was to what I had been denying myself hit me hard.

“You were right to push me away that night,” he whispered, his confession a drunken slur. “Me and you? It’s a bad idea…”

“I regret pushing you away,” I interrupted. “I wish I hadn’t.”

“Don’t say that,” he groaned.

My heart hammered violently in my chest. “It’s the truth.”

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