Chapter 16
Connor
Three days of short answers and shrugs. Three days of loud huffs and a fucking attitude problem the size of Texas. My teeth grind together as I try to continue with this paper for my contracts class, but I can’t fucking concentrate.
Ryan stomps past me, goes into the bathroom and slams the goddamn door.
Yup.
Been three days of that too.
Drives me fucking nuts.
But he’s showering. With me in the room. Still jams the doorstop under the main door. But I get to stay.
There goes that fucking hitch in my chest again.
Ryan comes back out a few seconds later in fucking purple briefs that barely cover half of his thick, muscled ass.
Now I’m fucking hard. And pissed.
Fuck this.
“You got something to say, use your words.”
He opens a drawer, grabs a pair of joggers, then slams it shut. Completely ignoring me.
My eyes narrow as I close my laptop. “I’m not a fucking mind reader. Talk. Now.”
“Go to hell.”
I snort. “Where do you think I came from?”
He scoffs, then walks back into the bathroom, slamming the door again. The blanket bunches in my fists. God, I want to kick that door in, make him tell me what’s pissing him off. But I know what it would do to him.
This is driving me fucking insane.
When the shower starts, I get up and cross the room, then yank open the top drawer of his desk. Neat as hell—pens lined up, class notes stacked. Not what I’m looking for.
His bag’s next. Nothing but an empty water bottle, a protein bar wrapper, a textbook, and a tangled phone charger in the corner.
I exhale hard, standing, raking a hand through my hair. What the fuck is he so mad at? At least he told me it wasn’t about jerking me off. Thought maybe I’d pushed him or said something.
Wait.
Fuck.
Did he find the camera?
I walk to my dresser and shove a couple of cologne bottles aside until my hand closes on the one that matters. Same black glass as the rest, a cheap knockoff brand no one would give a second glance.
The cap comes off easily. The lens is still there. Ryan probably didn’t find it. If he had, he’d already have thrown me into a wall like he did when I touched his bear.
I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and tap the app for the feed. I scroll to past video recordings and watch. Each video plays on fast forward as I lean against the dresser.
Nothing.
Ryan comes out of the bathroom. Dressed.
So he can strut around half-naked before a shower, but afterward he makes damn sure he’s covered. He’s doing it on purpose. Just another thing I didn’t know about who I married.
Ryan Henneman is one passive-aggressive motherfucker.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Enough of this bullshit.”
He just grabs a book and lies on his bed reading it, as if I didn’t just say something.
My teeth grind, fingers digging into my bicep. “Keep this up, see what happens.”
He turns and glares at me. “Thought we agreed you’d stop with the threats.”
“You’re fucking throwing a temper tantrum. I asked what the fuck I did. You said it wasn’t about what happened. Yet, you won’t fucking tell me why you’re angry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, not good enough.”
“Too bad.” He goes back to reading his book.
“Such a disrespectful—”
“You want my respect, Connor. Earn it.”
Done. I’m fucking done.
I walk over and snatch the book out of his hands. His eyes go wide as I tower over him, glaring. But I won’t touch him. That boundary, I will respect. “Tell me what the fuck is wrong.”
Red spreads across his face, his bottom lip quivering. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Fucking tell me!”
He looks at his hands, picking at his thumbnail.
“Goddammit, Ryan. Just tell me.”
He huffs, then bites his lip, still avoiding my gaze. “I know about Rua. About Miami.”
I blink once. Twice. The fuck? That’s not where I thought this was going.
He sits up, legs crossing tight, feet shoved under his thighs. He picks at a loose thread on the blanket and shrugs. “Thought I was . . . that what happened was the first time . . . for both of us. At least with a guy for you.”
“It was just a blowjob. Didn’t mean shit.”
“Can I have my book back?”
I sit on the edge of his bed, holding it out but not letting go. “Ryan, I never said I hadn’t done anything with another guy.”
He pulls the book, and this time, I let him have it. Don’t understand why my past set him off. Can’t change that it happened, either.
But I fucking hate when he’s like this.
“What’s the book about?”
He scoots back, leans against the wall, and then flips through the pages.
“This guy gets sucked into this fantasy world. He has to kill rats in tavern basements for experience points. Every ten rats he kills, he levels up and gets stronger. Eventually he works his way up to fighting goblins, then wolves, then dragons. If he dies in the book world, he dies in real life.”
I stare at him. “What the fuck kind of book is that?”
He rolls his eyes as he turns to the next page.
I shake my head, grinning, and push off his bed. I walk to mine, grab my laptop, then come back. “Move over.”
He looks up and stares.
“Move. Over.”
He scoots toward the wall, dragging his bear with him. I drop down, open the laptop, and boot up EVE Online.
Ryan glances at the screen. “You still play that?”
“Better than hunting rats in some fake book world.”
He snorts, shaking his head, but doesn’t argue. Just leans against the wall, legs stretched out, bear pressed to his side.
We don’t talk after that. Just sit there. The room is quiet except for the laptop’s hum and the sound of him breathing next to me.
Feels different, like a silent sense of understanding and camaraderie. It’s . . . something I could get used to.
That’s all I’m giving it.