Page 76 of Loverboy

“No?” He raised a brow.

I turned to face him then, and our knees brushed. The controller slipped out of my lap and clattered to the floor. I couldn’t do this. I was so fucking stupid to try playing at being normal when every time I looked at him, I wanted to kiss him.

And then punch him.

And then kiss him again.

“What do you want to do, then?” Jasper asked, leaning down to pick up the controller from between my legs, his eyes never leaving mine.

He always left it up to me.

I couldn’t keep making decisions like this. I was terrible at it, always choosing the wrong ones, always digging my hole another foot deeper.

“We’ve kissed twice,” I said quietly, but it definitely wasn’t what I meant.

We fucked.

“We have,” he acknowledged, a secretive smile touching his lips as he set the controllers back down on the table. “What about it?”

“Is that normal now?”

“Nothing about us is normal, Milo.”

I bit my lip so hard I thought it might bleed.

“Are you asking because you want to kiss me again?” He smirked.

“No,” I said impulsively.

He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, spreading his legs and letting his knee bump mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my spine. He was fucking infuriating, even in silence.

“I don’t believe you,” he said flatly.

My heart rate climbed, defensiveness taking over. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Always.”

I gaped at him. “Stop fucking with me.”

He tilted his head. “I can fuck with you and be honest.”

I was at my boiling point, my skin too hot and too tight. Did he think it was funny to tease me this way? Couldn’t he see I was losing my fucking mind?

“I can be honest, too.” The words tumbled out of me before I could swallow them. “I hate that you fucked Oliver.”

“I know.” His chest rose on a deep inhalation, a flicker of regret finally passing over his face.

“I can’t stand the thought of you looking at anyone else,” I added frantically, on the verge of losing steam. “Someday you might get a real partner, or get married, and then I’ll… I’ll be all by myself.”

“Not happening,” he said easily. “Other people are too much work.”

Other people. He was lying; I was the definition of too much.

I dug deeper. “What if that changes? What if someone becomes more important than me?”

“I’m going to pretend I’m not offended that you think that’s even a possibility.” He glowered.

The finality of his words made me melt even further into the couch, all the energy I spent looking for a fight ebbing. I turned my head to look at him, at a loss for words. He shifted closer to me until our sides were flush, reaching over and brushing my cheek with his thumb.