Page 85 of Rival for Rent

Well—he did. But not enough. Not enough to stay. Not enough to try.

And because I cared for him—because I loved him—I had to respect his wishes.

So I nodded too, and stepped back. I felt tears sting at the corners of my eyes. I turned away before he could see.

“Okay,” I said. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Kai, I didn’t mean to kick you out of—”

“It’s fine,” I said. “You clearly don’t want to be around me. I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

I walked out into the hall, closing the door behind me.

19

MASON

Ididn’t sleep well—again. It didn’t make sense. I was supposed to feel better after talking everything out with Kai. Only, it hadn’t gone the way I expected.

I thought he’d be hurt, or mad, or both. Call me an asshole, a traitor. Say all the awful things I’d been telling myself for years.

But he didn’t. He refused. He insisted on being kind. Told me I was a good person. It felt like a knife twisting in my gut.

Because of that—and about a dozen other reasons—I barely slept. When I finally dragged myself out of bed the next morning, I had a headache throbbing behind my eyes. I was making coffee in the kitchen, Bella trailing after me like she thought she’d get a cup if she looked cute enough, when I heard voices outside the house.

Frowning, I walked into the living room and peeked out one of the front windows. A guy with curly brown hair stood on the sidewalk, a phone on a selfie stick pointed at the house. Next to him, a blonde woman in a shell-pink blouse and khakis helda microphone while another woman recorded her with a video camera.

"What the fuck?" I whispered.

"What? What’s wrong?"

I turned to see Kai coming down the stairs, hair wet, towel wrapped around his waist. His eyes sharpened immediately.

"I thought I heard something," he said, hurrying the rest of the way down. "Is everything okay? Another rat?"

"No," I said slowly. "It’s not that. But I think there are reporters outside."

"Shit."

He moved to the window and peered through the blinds. The fresh, herbal scent of his shampoo hit me, and for a moment I had to fight not to flash back to yesterday afternoon—his office, his mouth on mine, his hands. God, I wanted him. Still did. But I couldn’t let myself go there.

At least Kai seemed on board now, even if he still hadn’t technically accepted our breakup. He’d see I was right in the end, though.

I reminded myself that I had to keep my distance. He wasn’t doing this on purpose—obviously he hadn’t planned for the reporters—but standing this close to him while he was half-naked felt like some kind of punishment. His damp shoulder brushed against my shirt, warm and solid. I swallowed and forced myself to focus on the circus outside.

"Don’t they have real news to report?" I asked. "The world’s on fire. Why the hell are they here?"

"They’re not exactly NBC," Kai pointed out. He nodded towards the blonde woman. "That’s Sandra Blankman. Covers tech news. And I think the guy is Declan Kinkade. Basically a glorified blogger."

Kinkade started walking backward across the lawn, keeping his camera pointed at the house. He stumbled, nearly fell, then climbed the steps—still facing us—and pounded on the front door.

Kai let go of the curtain and jumped back from the window.

"I’m going to tell them to get lost," I said, heading to grab my shoes.

"No, don’t."

His hand landed on my shoulder. I looked down at it, then up at him. His lips parted like he was about to say something else. He inhaled—quick and shallow—but then he dropped his hand and said, "Please. It’ll only make it more of a thing. They’ll get bored and leave eventually."

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