Page 49 of Ruled By Rivalry

“No, of course.” His smile sobered, like bringing Allegra up killed whatever there’d previously been between us. I wasn’t sure if I should regret it. If I should’ve just danced around the obvious until we inevitably went upstairs, where we’d both be reminded of his ex-girlfriend still in our apartment.

“She’s passed out in my room,” he added. “I don’t think she’s going anywhere tonight.”

Which was cool. “Makes sense.” I nodded grandly, tried to ignore that feeling in the pit of my stomach. “She’ll probably sleep better that way, right? Knowing you’re there, in case she needs—why are you laughing?”

Wide grin. Dimples. Crinkles around his eyes and nose. “I’m obviously taking the couch.”

“That’s not obvious,” I said, but I could feel the color rising to my cheeks.

“She’s my ex.”

“Well, you’re still the first person she wanted to see after she broke up with . . . Nils?” I guessed.

“Nick,” he corrected. “And technically, the first person she saw was Rowen.”

“Asking for you.”

“We’re friends.” He gave me another one of those looks as we ascended the stairs. Isn’t that obvious? it said. “When they make up, Allegra and I will be back to seeing each other on a biweekly basis. You’ll have me all to yourself again.”

That’s not what this is about, I wanted to argue. But I was much more interested in Allegra’s relationships. “You think they’ll get back together?”

“On-again, off-again relationships are kind of her thing, if you couldn’t tell.” He huffed. “But let’s not talk about my ex-girlfriend.”

“Let’s not,” I agreed. But—“Was she your first love?”

“Only,” he corrected. “So far. But—”

“You’re still friends, though. Did you just fall out of love?”

“It happens.”

“But—”

“Maeve.” I was absentmindedly playing with my necklace until he caught my hand in his and forced it to still. Forced me to look up at him, too. Amusement and annoyance in his gaze—no matter how contrary the two seemed.

“Sorry, sorry,” I muttered, just as he interlaced our fingers to pull me up the stoop to our building.

I shouldn’t have gasped at the feeling of him in my palm, his cold fingers against my clammy skin. But my pulse picked up once more, and I was so stunned, I couldn’t further acknowledge it.

Us, holding hands.

“I’m flattered, really. That you’re this interested in my love life,” came from somewhere in front of me. I couldn’t pinpoint anything other than where we were touching.

“I’m not—”

“And you’re cute this way, really.” He unlocked the door, threw a glance across his shoulder that was as teasing as it was appreciative.

A look that made it hard to think anything other than He’s so handsome. “What way?”

“Jealous.”

“I’m not—” I repeated, then almost gave up when I concluded that I . . . was. He just didn’t need to know. “I’m not jealous.”

“Right.” We climbed the stairs up to our apartment, and once his hand had slipped out of mine, at least I could focus on my surroundings again. Did I have to zero in on the gray sweats hanging low on his waist, though? Probably not. “When you’re not jealous then.”

I snorted from behind him, earning me another look. Immediately, my laughter died out.

“I’m cute when I’m not jealous,” I repeated. “So just . . . all the time?”