Page 33 of Havoc
He nods, careful to keep his eyes off her beautiful mouth. I’ve always appreciated that about Venom. He’s as big a flirt as Soul, but he keeps his distance from any girl with ties to his brothers.
“It’s almost exactly the same.” Aimee wets her lips, looking around as Chaos and Venom disappear.
“A mess?”
The smallest smile creeps into the corner of her mouth. “Exactly. Complete chaos.”
“You know I think better when there’s shit everywhere.”
She follows me to a workbench at the opposite wall and lifts herself to sit on it. “I know you do.”
“So you needed some air, huh?” I rest my hip against the bench. “That’s the only reason you’re here?”
“Fishing for compliments already? That was fast.” She glares, but it’s playful this time. “Don’t you get enough of those from your girlfriend?”
I snort out a laugh. “You met Reina.”
“Yeah. She’s sweet.”
“You’re lying.” I shake my head. “And she’s not my girlfriend. She knows that.”
Aimee shrugs, her face neutral. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Clearly, you had something going on with her.”
“Not anymore.”
She rolls her eyes, and I lift off the workbench to step closer. I grab her chin between my thumb and forefinger and force her to look me in the eyes.
“Reina likes to start shit and say things to piss people off, but whatever we had is over. It has been for months now.”
“Months,” Aimee repeats, and I hate how bad it sounds coming from her.
“Yeah.” I brush my thumb along the line of her lower lip and then drop my hand.
“You don’t have to feel guilty about it. You don’t owe me anything, Levi.”
I’d like to explain all the ways she’s wrong about that, but I doubt she’d listen. “Whatever you say.”
“That’s a cop-out response.”
“You’re trying to pick a fight with me right now.”
“I’m not.”
I give her a look.
“Fine,” she concedes, rolling her eyes. “I just don’t understand why you think I care about your relationship status.”
“Are you saying you don’t?” I challenge her. “You’re the one who brought Reina up.”
Aimee’s jaw tightens as she stares up at me from where she’s sitting on the workbench. Her knuckles are white from how hard she’s gripping it. She could easily tell me she doesn’t care and end this conversation, but she doesn’t. Which is why I step closer.
My thighs nudge her knees, and it takes all my composure not to grab her or kiss her or remind her ofthe promise she made me about that date we’d have when I was out of the Marines.
“I was just clarifying,” Aimee finally says. “She said she was your girlfriend—”
“Well, she’s not.”
“Okay.”
