Page 47 of Mischievous Lies

“You know what? It’s been fun. And your dick is a lot of fun too, but maybe we should have some space for a bit.”

“Space? What the fuck does that mean?” I ask, stepping toward her. She laughs as she steps back.

“Exactly what it sounds like, Hawke. No more you and me. No touchy. I can take it from here; I don’t need your help anymore.” She begins to walk off, but I follow her.

“You don’t get to just call it because you’re in a pissy mood.”

She swings around. “Pissy mood?!”

Fuck.I said the wrong thing. Damnit, I’m not good at this shit.

“This is all just sex, isn’t it? And we’ve had fun, and you can tick it off your list. Job well done, Hawke.”

She turns away again, but I catch her wrist, unsure of what the fuck is happening right now. How is it spiraling so much, and I seem to be saying all the wrong things? I mean, I’ve alwaysdone that, but I want to be able to say the right things when it comes to Ivy.

“You’re not just a tick on the list,” I say, my eyebrows furrowing because I’m still not entirely sure if I’m saying the right thing.

“It just feels like we’ve been hanging out a little too much. Maybe you’re lonely because you can’t hang out with your brother anymore, but I’m not a consolation prize you can just fuck and use to entertain yourself.”

I’m baffled that she would think that. And when she pulls her hand out of my grip, I let her because I have no idea what she’s saying. “I thought we were having fun.” I thought she was enjoying all of the time we spent together. Sure, we’re at each other’s throats all the time, but I thought that was our vibe. I didn’t realize she thought I wasusingher.

“It’s been fun. But now I’m going to find fun with someone else.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I growl.

“Precisely that, Hawke. We’re not a thing. We can still fuck anyone else, and maybe we need to remind ourselves of that.” She once again takes off down the sidewalk, and I storm after her. Despite her shorter legs, she picks up a ridiculous amount of speed when she’s pissed. Onlookers watch us as we argue.

“Well, yeah. Obviously, it’s easy for us to fuck other people,” I bite back. I’m not even sure what I’m saying right now.

“Good.” She throws her hands up, and somehow, some way, her speed picks up even more. Jesus Christ, this woman is on a mission.

“Yeah, well, good. I can probably pick up before you,” I blurt, and a violent bubble of laughter comes to the surface. My cock twitches, and I internally argue with Hawke Junior that he should not find it hot when she’s mad because I’m pretty sure this, right now, is serious.

“Want to make a fucking bet?” she challenges, those fierce blue eyes slicing over to me. Goose bumps erupt over my skin. She’s furious, but I don’t know how to stop the momentum.

“Yep. Game on.”

She shakes her head, and I’m still at a loss as to whether I’ve done the right thing or the wrong thing. I scratch the back of my head as I follow her because this woman undeniably confuses the shit out of me. This isn’t the straightforward Ivy I know. Or maybe she is being straightforward, and I’ve really fucked up.

I’m used to fucking up. But not like this. And I don’t know how to stop it.

She’s fucking furious with me. She told me to stop following her five times, but after the fifth time, she gave up.

Ivy is many things, but a coward she’s not. If she’s challenged me, we’re going to see this shit through, or at the very least sit down and fucking talk about it. I’m familiar with the bar we walk into; I’ve been here twice before. It’s mostly filled with tourists at the moment, but I don’t care about who’s here. I only have eyes for the furious little blonde who has far too much attention on her as she walks in. That is, of course, until they see me standing behind her, promising death.

She walks straight up to the bar and orders a water. When I come up beside her, she turns her back to me. I try not to laugh as I lean against the bar. I’m kind of pissed, but also I find this amusing. I can never quite understand Ivy, and maybe that’s why I’ve always been curious about her. Just when I think I have her figured out, she throws a wild card at me like this.

A guy wastes no time approaching her as the bartender gives her the glass of water. I order a whiskey, trying my hardest to take the edge off because now I’m really starting to get pissed.

“Cute outfit,” the guy says to her, and she tucks her hair behind her ear.

I loom behind her, glaring at the guy, and he pales when he notices me. She huffs out an irritated sigh, still not looking at me.

“Please ignore him. That’s my brother,” she says, and I can just imagine the sweet, flirtatious smile she gives him.

“He doesn’t look like your brother,” he says, still nervous. Good. I hope he pisses himself.

“I’m not her brother,” I clarify. If the fucker has any brains or survival instincts, he’ll run the other way.

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