Page 135 of Reckless Obsession

But he doesn’t laugh.

He doesn’t even smile. He just keeps watching me with that steady, unnerving gaze that always makes me feel stripped bare.

“So you don’t have a crush on me anymore?” he asks.

The question lands like a punch to the chest. I nearly choke on my food.

“What?”

“You said you used to have a crush on me,” he says, voice low and careful. “So I guess now you don’t anymore?”

I blink at him, brain short-circuiting. My heart does this stupid, painful flip in my chest. For once, I don’t have a quick comeback ready. All I have is the terrifying realization that he’s actually waiting for an answer.

“Do you think if I didn’t like you, I’d still be here after all the shit you’ve put me through?” I finally snap, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “After you keep fucking me senseless, then ghosting me for weeks as if I’m nothing?”

The words hang between us.

Too honest. Too ugly.

Tristan doesn’t flinch. If anything, his gaze softens, the firelight catching in his eyes and making them look almost unbearably warm.

“Do you think if I didn’t like you too,” he says slowly, “I’d tolerate your stubbornness? The way you keep destroying my shit? Breaking into my apartment? Setting my entire life on fire every time you walk into it?”

My heart stutters violently. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The fire crackles between us, filling the heavy silence with pops and sparks.

Tristan leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on mine as if he’s daring me to look away.

“You’ve been nothing but a nuisance in my life, Maksim,” he says. “A distraction and a pain in the ass I can’t seem to quit.”

A weak, uneven laugh slips out of me. “Wow. Romantic.”

“I’m serious.”

That shuts me up.

His expression isn’t soft exactly. Tristan has never been good at soft when it matters. But it’s unguarded in a way that makes my heart stutter.

“You got into my head when I didn’t want anyone there,” he continues. “You pushed every boundary I had just to see if I’d push back.”

“I was charming.”

“You were unbearable.”

“See?” I try for a grin, but it doesn’t quite land. “That sounds more like it.”

He doesn’t smile.

And suddenly, neither do I.

“You made everything complicated,” he says. “You still do. I can’t think straight when you’re around. I can’t stay angry at you as long as I should. I try to keep my distance, and somehow you end up in my space anyway.” His jaw tightens, like he hates how true the words are. “At my office. In my house. In my bed. In every damn sense I have.”

My breath catches.

Christ.

What is this?

What is he trying to say?