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Not that that excuses me being a dick to Cara.

“Not hungry.”

“Braxton—” The door squeaks as she walks in and sets the sandwich bag down on my desk.

“Don’t want to talk about it, Stella.”

Like usual, when Stella wants something, she doesn’t give up. She takes a seat on the chair across from my desk, crosses one leg over her knee, and taps the back of my desk with the toe of her black heels.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Fucking hell, she’s stubborn and a pain in my ass.

I throw down the papers I haven’t been paying the least bit attention to and glare at her. “What do you want?”

“So…how did last night go?”

“You shitting me?”

She twists her eyebrow piercing and shrugs. “I’m curious is all.”

Fuck it. It’s not her fault I lost my shit, even if it is her fault I lost my shit, so if she wants to be stubborn and a pain in my ass, she can have all of it.

I lean back in my chair and throw my hands in the air. “Let’s see, Stella. I went home, was so pissed I got shit-faced drunk, Cara came home and I didn’t even let her get a word in. I essentially called her a cheating, lying bitch, which pissed her off. Then she told me she was falling in love with me, that I was a dickhead,andthe guy she was with is gay. So, I pretty much fucked up because I’m not falling in love with her, I’m already fucking there, and she walked out of my place with an overnight bag telling me she wants nothing to do with me except for our baby—” The devastated look in her eyes hits my memory and I flinch. God, what a fuckup I am. “That what you wanted to hear?”

“She didn’t cheat on you?”

So help me God. I’ve never wanted to strangle Stella more than right now as she stands in front of me processing last night’s bullshit in condensed form.

“She’s in love with you?” Her fingers at her piercing fall into her lap and her voice softens. Stella’s voice never softens. Ever.

“Yup.”

I’m glad I realized you’re the asshole you are when I’m only starting to fall in love with you.

Starting to fall in love with me. She’s falling in love with me. I took a fucking sword and might as well have slashed her heart right open, right there, in the middle of my damn living room.

What in the hell is my problem?

Moments pass where Stella stares at me, the clicking of her shoe making me want to rip them both off her feet and toss them into the hallway. “And the guy she was with is gay?”

“That’s what she said right before she slammed the door in my face.”

Several more moments. The clicking of Stella’s damn shoe on my desk is now accompanied with the matchingtick-tockof my clock on my wall and all of it is making me feel like I’m a captured soldier being tortured.

“Maybe I messed up,” Stella says, and her voice is a little bit soft, and mostly scared.

“Jesus. You think?” I swipe a hand across my forehead. “It’s not even your fault, it’s mine because I was the asshole who didn’t just go home, wait for her, and say, ‘How was dinner?’ you know, and give her a minute to explain anything.”

“Yeah. That probably wasn’t good either.”

Is she fucking kidding me? “Stella.” It comes out as a growl.

“Well, what was I supposed to think when I saw her with some guy and all over him? It looked bad! And he’s the kind of guy she should be with anyway.”