Page 112 of Ignition

“What are you talking about?”

His voice came out strained, and both his hands clawed at his hair as he spun and paced a small circle in front of me.

“You know what.” My voice faltered, but I pressed on. “Tiffany.”

He skidded to a halt mid-stride and turned towards me as if in slow motion, mouth slack, blinking slow.

“You know?”

My throat bobbed as I nodded almost imperceptibly, wincing at the thought of Pri catching heat for this.

Grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes, he let out a pained groan.

“Shit.”

“What, were you just never gonna tell me?” I huffed, clinging to irritation, because the sight of him like that nearly buckled my knees.

“Yeah, that was the plan. They should’ve kept their mouths shut.”

He as good as clawed at his hair, face still shuttered from me.

“Goddamn it, Mia. You weren’t supposed to—”

His hands fell away at last to reveal such a conflicted expression, my heart flipped over itself for a long, dizzying moment. I wasn’t sure which shocked me more, that he sank heavily onto a chair, as if his legs might give out, or the words spilling out of him like poison, revealing everything: the talk with Pri, confronting Tiffany and Chloe, who’d barked orders at the rest of them.

What he didn’t say—what I was afraid to find out—was what he’d leveraged for my peace.

Silence stretched in the wake of his confession hissed through gritted teeth, as if dragged from somewhere he kept under lock and key. Finally, he looked up at me, brows nearly touching. I shook my head, feeling strange and weightless, like I was underwater all over again.

“Why?” I whispered, shuffling closer, feet moving before the rest of me even registered it, until I found myself in front of him.

He chuckled, though it sounded more like a groan of pain, and gave me a look I couldn’t decipher.

Time stretched taut between us.

“You just… get on my nerves,” he finally said and shrugged, the corners of his lips twitching.

I opened my mouth to argue that wasn’t an answer at all, but then his hand brushed mine, his fingers slotted loosely between my own, and he dragged me one step closer.

“Did you get my notes?” he murmured, the memory of them squeezing my heart until it whimpered in my chest—silly ones, sweet ones, the odd gift. I suspected even my new mechanical pencil I loved was from him, though I couldn’t prove it.

My eyes skittered away from his as my throat worked around the tangled mess I would rather die than let spill.

“You shouldn’t have.” I swallowed. “I told you, we’re done.”

“Are we?” he whispered, his other hand clasping my chin, turning me towards him. A strangled, pained sigh tore from my lips, and conflict must have shown on my face as my gaze poured into his.

“If we’re really done, stop looking at me like that.” His voice turned low and husky.

“Stop staring at my mouth.”

As if commanded by his words, my eyes dipped, before I pulled them back to his a fraction too late. I sucked in a sharp breath, too taken aback by the shift to manage any defence, and every second of silence that passed and every frantic heartbeat against my ribs sealed my fate.

“I’m staring cause you’re just—ugh,” I managed to snap, though it sounded like a breathless protest, rather than the scathing insult I’d meant. I huffed and sought to disentangle my fingers from his, but he held fast.

“Just… what?” He coaxed, his other hand grazing a line on the outside of my thigh—barely a touch, but the frantic goose pimples on the back of it disagreed.

“A… a… an infuriating prick,” I panted, chest heaving.