Page 50 of Loverboy

I grabbed the bags and headed up to the apartment, bracing myself to be in the same space as him again. After getting inside and kicking off my shoes, I spotted two empty bookshelves in the living room that I recognized from Mom’s place. He must have picked them up while I was out.

I glanced at his bedroom door and found it closed but not sealed. Relief loosened some of the tension in my chest, like some wrong had been made right. He wasn’t shutting me out, even if I was doing it to him. It was killing me to want him close and nowhere near me at the same time.

I shuffled into the kitchen and unloaded my haul, arranging the liquor and snacks meticulously, like a trophy display. I snapped a picture and posted it in the group chat all of my friends belonged to, already focused on the night ahead.

“What a surprise.” Jasper clicked his tongue, reaching around me to grab a bag of chips and inspect it. “No real food, huh?”

I startled, too self-absorbed to notice he’d left his room. The anger that had finally cooled began to swell again. He was so casual, so unbothered, while I was drowning in my own thoughts. He didn’t have the right to be worried about what I chose to eat anymore.

“It’s party night,” I explained, as if it were obvious, turning around to face him.

Nothing. Not a single reaction to the news that I was going to throw a party without asking. Fuck, he pissed me off.

“What, you can’t eat real food at a party?” he teased, tossing the chips down and bracing his hands on either side of the counter, boxing me in and standing close enough for me to see my reflection in the deep brown eyes behind his glasses.

“Fuck off. Do you have to be so overbearing?” The scant distance between us had me on edge, an influx of indiscernible emotions sweeping through.

The words didn’t feel good, but I couldn’t stop myself. He didn’t seem nearly as affected by my attitude as I needed him to be. It was unfair that he knew what I was playing at—that he knew me. It made me want to push him further, to hit the glass until it cracked.

“Would you take care of yourself otherwise?” he countered, nails tapping against the counter.

“I take care of myself just fine.” My voice pitched higher than I would’ve liked.

He tilted his head, his undivided attention threatening to peel back all of my layers.

“Who are you trying to convince? Me, or you?”

Before I could shove him away, he was already retreating to his room. I closed my eyes and rubbed at them with my palms, trying to reel myself in. When I blinked the blurriness away, he was back.

There was a McDonald’s bag in his hand.

“What’s this for?” I muttered, clinging to my anger. Without it, I had nothing.

“You.” He rolled his eyes and pushed the bag toward me.

Reluctantly, I took it, peering inside at the chicken burger and fries. The fact that he always knew what I liked and needed only served to fan the flames of my outrage. How could he know me this well and still do what he did?

“I never said I was hungry,” I said defensively, reaching inside the bag and putting a fry between my lips anyway.

“You’re not getting wasted on an empty stomach, and I was grabbing something to eat while you were out anyway.” He shrugged, watching me with a glimmer of amusement that made me want to burn everything to the ground.

Eating almost felt like defeat. I turned my back on him, scrolling on my phone and picking at fries in hopes that he would leave.

“Why are you still here?” I fumed, glancing over my shoulder.

He was still standing there, that smug-ass look plastered on his disgustingly charming face. Political science was definitely the right field for him because he looked the part in a way that I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Was it the glasses? The slicked-back dark brown hair he always pushed out of his face when it was close to being time for a haircut? The way his lips curled into a confident smirk? Or just the energy he radiated—cocky and self-assured?

“It could be because I also live here. You remember, right? Begging me not to leave you alone?” Jasper taunted, chest brushing against my back as he reached into the bag and stole a fry.

“Can’t say I do,” I lied casually.

“Oh, so I can go home then, right?” he asked, voice thick with sarcasm.

My lips twitched. I snatched the bag from the counter and rolled the top down, tucking it under my arm. I wanted to tell him he could take his shit and leave, that I never wanted to see his stupid face ever again.

But I couldn’t.