Why didn’t Flynn tell me he was here?
My brother is a significant pain in my backside.
Wesley is anything but happy.
He’s grinding his teeth with his nostrils flaring at the same time. He’s dressed in a pair of shorts, tee, and sneakers, looking rather casual. His hair appears like it’s grown since this morning, which is impossible, yet, limp against his face until he combs it back with his fingers in a frustrating move.
“Oh, you’re here.”
Silence falls. I throw my bag onto the bed, and the second it lands, he grabs it unzipping the zipper and fumbling around removing my cell.
Holding it up, he gestures with an agitated expression. “Would you look at that? You do have battery… and your cell does work. Did it not occur to you to respond to any of my calls or texts?”
“I fell asleep,” I tell him. “I was exhausted from last night.”
“You fucking read my texts,” he yells, erratic and throwing my cell onto the bed. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Milana.”
“Bullshit?” I question, equally annoyed at his childish behavior. “Last week, you didn’t speak to me for days.”
“That’s different. We weren’t in a relationship.” He’s quick to remind me. “Do you know what happens in a relationship? You communicate. You don’t tell lies. I don’t know what type of a relationship you and that little farmer boy had, but that’s not how it works, okay?”
I don’t appreciate him putting Liam down or making me feel stupid. Of course, I know how a relationship works. Obviously, he doesn’t.
“Really? You want to talk about lying? Tell me, what meetings do you have scheduled for tomorrow?”
“I don’t know, work stuff, probably.”
I place my hands on my hips, shaking my head in disbelief. “Unbelievable! You’re going to lie to my face? We’ve been dating for like two minutes, and already we’re arguing. I swear, Wesley, you’re so up and down you could be a woman.”
Wesley bows his head, running his hands through his hair again with frustration. “I didn’t think it was a big deal,” he says in a low tone.
“Of course, you didn’t.” I let out a frustrated sigh, my shoulders slumping from sheer exhaustion. “I don’t care what you think. I fell asleep tonight, in the car, tired as hell. I raced home to shower then call you. Right now, I want to eat pizza, and I want you to leave. No good will come of you staying here.”
“Milana,” he calls my name softly, extending his hand to touch mine.
I allow him to touch me, but just for a brief moment, scared he’ll consume me once again, and any chance I have of surviving will be minimal.
“Please, Wesley, go. Just for tonight, I need some space,” I beg of him.
I stare at the floor for what seems like forever.
His shoes make this squeaky sound against the wood until the sound stops at my door. Wesley holds onto the doorknob, clearing his throat, lifting his head to meet mine. “Space is never a good thing. You have twenty-four hours.”
I quirk my brows, glancing at him, confused by his ultimatum. “Twenty-four hours to do what?”
“To do whatever it is you have to do to understand you’re with me now. You’re my fucking girlfriend, and that’s how it’s going to stay.”
The door opens wide, and before he leaves the room, I call for him to wait.
“I don’t think so. You have twenty-four hours for you to decide whether it’s her or me.”
I hate that I’ve bared my soul, allowed him to see how jealous and vulnerable I am. The thing is, I have nothing against Emerson. What I do have is the underlying feeling that my connection to her is somewhat of an asset to him.
And this will be the test.
“Her?” he repeats, confused, inching his way closer to me.
“Emerson,” I murmur.