Page 35 of Forbidden

I was still standing and still glaring at him. I wasn’t speaking to him. Not now. Not ever.

“You going to sit down?”

I heard a motorbike start up. As soon as the noise of the engine disappeared I was out of here.

It slowly started to disappear and I moved across the room. I was leaving. And Tyson realized it. He was quick to block my exit.

“Layla, don’t leave.” He stood firmly in my way, filling the doorway. I couldn’t bolt if I wanted to. Which was what I was trying to do. Bolt. “Will you at least look at me?”

I was glaring at the carpet. I wanted him to move but I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of a conversation with me.

“So, not talking to me?” He crossed his arms.

I scoffed. He was meant to be smart. I kept glaring at the carpet. I wanted him to move. But I didn’t want to speak to him or touch him. So I just stood there. Waiting for him to give up.

“I guess I deserve this,” he sighed. “Okay, get it off your chest.”

I was not giving him the pleasure of an argument with me. I was not getting anything off my chest. I was not speaking to him.

He could go get fucked.

“Layla, just say one word to me.”

Nope. Not happening. Then he did something he really shouldn’t have. He touched me. I swiped his hand off my cheek.

“Don’t touch me.” I couldn’t hold back the venom in my voice. He was rude. He was moody. And he sure as fuck was a dick.

“And finally she speaks.” He smiled at me.

“Yeah, to tell you not to touch me!”

“Can we talk business now, or are you still wanting to storm off like a child?”

“Fuck off Tyson.” I was not talking him. Even though I was. I groaned. This was complicated. Why did I care if he spoke to me or not? Why did I care if he ignored me? Why the hell did it bother me so much?

I had to be cold to him. Do what he did to me. Force him away.

“I’ll talk to your dad. You don’t need to speak to me.” I tilted my head and glared at him. “You hate speaking to me. So don’t break a habit now.”

If he really wanted to speak to me he should have spoken to me when I attempted to make conversation with him last week.

“What do you want me to say?”

I scoffed again. Seriously? He had no idea what I might want to hear? How about why he went so hot and so cold on me? Why did it bother me so much? I wanted to yell at myself. It didn’t matter why he had done it; he had done it, and that was all that mattered.

I side-stepped him but he blocked me.

“Come on, my dad won’t accept me not getting the details from you.”

I didn’t care if he got in trouble with his father. I crossed my arms.

“Come on, Layla. Don’t make me say it.”

I continued to glare at him. He could still get fucked. And if he didn’t move, I would be forced to push past him.

He groaned. “Fine. You’re going to make me say it.” He sounded disgusted at the thought of telling me whatever he thought he had to say. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to hear it.

I watched his expression harden. He looked furious. “I don’t do this,” he snapped at me.