Page 7 of If You Say So

He’s angry, but he can’t be angry—I’mthe one who should be angry.

“What doyoucare?” I spit out, finally turning to face him.

“Blake…” My name is whispered, and it sends chills down my spine. I don’t try to hide the reaction. “Are you sleeping on that?”

I swallow the shame sitting in the back of my throat. “So?”

“Why?”

He’s back to sounding angry.

Fucker.

“Why? Are you really asking mewhyright now?”

“Of course I’m asking you why. Why in the fuck are you sleeping on a goddamn twin-sized air mattress when you can be sleeping on a pillow-top queen-sized bed? Why would you put yourself through that?”

“Again,you’rereally asking me that?”

His brows slam together. “Is it because of me? Because of—”

“Because this is the bed we used to share? Because this is the bed where we made love every night? The same fucking bed you whispered you loved me in? Yeah, it’s completely because ofyou.”

“Blake, I—”

“Why are you in here, Nate? We have rules. You shouldn’t be in here.”

His shoulders sag and I catch myself before I reach out for him, before I take my anger back. “I thought you were still downstairs. You usually are at this time of day…” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I was looking for a shirt I left in here, my burnt orange one? Have you seen it?”

My breath stills, and my palms grow sweaty. I keep my eyes on him, as much as it hurts, because I can’t let them wander to my makeshift bed on the floor, can’t let them drift to the pillow, because right underneath is the shirt he’s looking for. It’s the shirt he was wearing right before the party where my heart was ripped from my chest and stomped on.

“Nope. No idea where it is.”

His dark green gaze slides downward to where I’m picking my thumbnail with my index finger. It’s my tell. He knows I’m lying, and I know he knows I’m lying. But, he doesn’t care, and neither do I.

“Okay. I—”

“Do you need anything else?”

“Other than for you to stop interrupting me? No.”

“Good.”

“Good,” he echoes.

Then we stand there, staring at one another with longing.

The silence stretches miles wide between us. It’s so quiet, you can hear the front door close downstairs and a car start up outside.

I realize then that we’re alone in the house.

We haven’t been alone since…

“Did they just leave?” Nate asks.

“I, uh, I think so.”

“Oh.” He scratches at the stubble lining his chin. “Do you want—”

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