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“Well, stop.”

“What do you mean, stop?”

I moved to stand behind him at the sink. It was irresponsible. If I’d learned anything today, it was that being anywhere near him was a bad idea. A terrible one. My body was not quite my own, despite everything that said I should be the rational, collected one. Too many things had gone off the rail to start freezing over it now.

“I mean, grab your food, the book I gave you, and head home.”

Jaime whirled around. Somehow, it emphasized how close I was standing. It wasn’t as close as when he tried to frame me against the threshold to the living room, but it still made my heart race.

“Usually when someone wants me to head home, they don’t corner me against their kitchen counter.”

I huffed. Everything about him was infuriating. I was starting to regret all the curiosity that had made me focus on him. “I’d hope when people tell you to head home, you actually listen.”

Jaime just quirked an eyebrow. No, not just. He pushed forward until he was slotted between my thighs, only fabric separating us.

“Areyougoing to give me lessons on consent?”

My jaw ticked. “Imagine that.”

There was no way I’d fall for his taunts. He wasn’t trying to start a conversation about what went down with Sergio—when, almost a decade ago, I was a stupid TA and Sergio was a freshman, and I got him in my office for an incredibly misguided handjob that should’ve never happened. Jaime just wanted me angry.

He wanted a reaction.

That was the thing with brats.

Only problem was, he wasn’t my brat, and this wasn’t the right way to brat out. I didn’t point it out because I knew he was aware. After all, we both went to the same club, attended the same workshops. He wasn’t new, either. He hadn’t shown up at the club for the first time in that big-eyed way most new subs did, either. Jaime was the type who did his research before he did anything and then proceeded to wear it like an armor.

“You’re not getting rid of me.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re helping me with the email thing.”

He jutted his chin up. It was such a contrast—the harshness in his features versus the faint wobbling in his voice.

“Sure,” I drawled. “You know where to text me.”

I was ninety-nine percent sure he didn’t have my number, but he could reach me through the club’s app.

“Right.” Jaime nodded. “I’m going to go now. Because I finished loading up the dishwasher, not because you said so.”

“Right,” I repeated easily. If I only thought of him as a brat and not the infuriating person he was, or how he oozed masculinity in a way I wasn’t used to at all—handling him became the tiniest bit easier. “You should work on your manners.”

“I’m too angry with you to care about those.”

I leaned back. Jaime took advantage of the movement to slip away. I didn’t care. “Angry?”

I’d noticed he ran hot and cold, but what the fuck had I done to make him angry now?

“I’m angry with the both of us, to be fair.” He waved his hands around as he spoke, even when he was on the move. I trailed after him easily while he gathered everything from the living room. “You for rejecting me. Me for offering.”

I ignored the way that made me feel—the slap to the face I had no business feeling. “Doesn’t that make it a good thing that I rejected you then?”

Jaime tutted. He was careful when he stuffed the book into his already full backpack. He wasn’t so careful as he slung the bag over his shoulders. If I wanted to make myself feel better, I’d say his care for the book was out of reverence for something that was mine. In reality, it was probably just his respect for the book. Not that it was a bad thing. I’d been in the university library before, and the way some people treated the textbooks there made me want to give them an F out of spite.

Apparently, that was not a thing I could do.

“It would, except I’m still game.” Jaime stomped before he turned around and walked past me to grab his shoes from the entrance.

“Stop.”

The command had no place between us. I had no right to it, no business exerting it.