“You really like to piss people off, hmm?”
I shrug. “Maybe. But she’s the one who jumped straight to physical violence without hearing me out.”
He grunts.
Nothing to say because I’m fucking right.
“My laptop?” I remind him.
“What makes you think I have it?”
I hate him.
I knew I hated him already, but now I really do. And my stupid freaking phone won’t load the apps. I’ve tried everything—restarting my phone, deleting the apps and redownloading them. I even pulled out my SIM card, just to see if that would do anything.
Nada.
“Can I see your phone?”
He glances at me. “Um, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s my phone, and I don’t want you to steal screenshots of my private conversations and post them.” He sneers. “You have a history of doing that, you know.”
“I washacked.” I focus on where we’re going and sit up straighter. “Why are we going to your house?”
“Because I want to go home.”
“Take me to my apartment.”
He ignores me.
“Miles.” I push at his arm. “Take me home. Tomyhome.”
Oh. My. God.
“Can you even hear me, jackass?” I shove his arm harder. Not smart, since he’s driving, butsue me.
He reaches for me too fast, his hand going around my throat. He shoves me against the door, his fingers digging into my skin. I go completely still for a split second, then try the sensible thing—you know, to remove his hand.
His grip tightens when I try to yank it away, and suddenly, my vision is speckled black. He’s not blocking my airway—but heispressing on my pulse points. Everything goes weak—and then fades. My hand slides off his wrist, and my eyes roll back.
Out like a light.
* * *
I wake up flat on my back. The surface under me is hard, and it takes me a second to try and piece together what the hell happened.
One minute, I was trying to get Miles to take me home.
The next, his fucking hand was around my throat, and I lost consciousness.
I crack my eyes open and glance around, and my heart sinks. Unfortunately, I know exactly where I am.
On the freaking floor in the living room of the hockey house.
And utterly alone.