Page 103 of Beating Heart
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I didn’t know he was coming. But you overreacted a bit, don’t you think?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, mouth in a straight line as I stared at her. “Overreacted? I actually think I underreacted. I would have knocked his ass out if Cutler hadn’t been standing on the porch next door, watching.”
“Do you want to tell me why you wanted to knock him out?” she asked, stepping a little closer.
“Because he fucking hurt you. He doesn’t deserve your time.”
“Okay. But you do know that I can take care of myself, right?”
“I’m more than aware, Emerson. You remind me all the time,” I hissed. “But sometimes I like to take care of you, so you’ll just have to deal with it.”
“Is that so?” Her lips turned up the slightest bit in the corners.
“That is so.”
“And the only reason you were upset about him being here was because you knew that he hurt me?”
I narrowed my gaze as Winnie came jogging over from the grass and walked past me like she owned the place. But I hadn’t invited Emerson in yet. I was trying to put distance there, right?
Hell, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore.
“What other reason would there be?” I asked, my voice gruff as she moved closer, her chest bumping into mine as I looked down at her.
“It seemed like maybe you were jealous.”
I chuckled and scrubbed a hand over the back of my neck. “I don’t get jealous.”
“Not even a little bit?” Her hands moved to my chest, and she tipped her head back to look up at me.
“Does it even fucking matter?” I hissed, suddenly angry again as I turned and stepped into my house, and she followed me inside.
“Yes, Nash. It fucking matters.”
I was surprised to hear the anger in her voice. She was the one throwing all the mixed signals. She was the one leaving in a few months. She was the one who had just been chatting with her ex-fiancé. Why the fuck was she irritated?
“Listen, I overreacted. I saw him there, and I didn’t like it.”
“Why?” she pressed, following me to the kitchen, where I grabbed my beer and leaned against the counter. “Why didn’t you like it?”
“I don’t know.”
She reached for the beer and took it from my hand, setting it on the counter beside me. “Yes, you do.”
“What the fuck do you want from me, Emerson? I’ve been playing by your rules this whole fucking time.”
Her eyes widened. “My rules? You were the one who said you don’t do relationships. How are these my rules?”
“Fine. They were our rules. And it’s just gotten—complicated.”
“And you don’t like complicated, right?” she asked, moving right in front of me again and fisting her fingers in my shirt.
“I don’t know what I like anymore.” I looked away because I couldn’t look into those jade-green eyes and lie to her. I knew exactly what I wanted.
I want her. All of her.
“Nash,” she said my name on a whisper. “Look at me.”
