Page 21 of If We Were Perfect (If Love 4)

“This ismykitchen.”

“It’sourkitchen,” Olivia corrected. “I signed a lease. I’m paying rent. The kitchen is a communal space, which means it’s mine and yours.”

“You don’t even use the damn kitchen! You eat dinner at your office half the time, and the other half you order takeout.”

“I have to look at it,” she fired back. “You know I dislike clutter.”

Sammy’s molars ground together until his jaw hurt. “Right. I forgot. Everything has to be perfect for the mighty Olivia Tang. Your house, your career, your fucking relationships. How’s that working out for you? Living in your ex’s house, still single because no man on earth can live up to your unrealistic expectations. Careful, Olivia, or you’ll end up like your mom always feared you would.”

The second the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back.

Olivia reeled like she’d been slapped, her eyes wide.

This time, Sammy was the one who rubbed his temples. Shame and regret lodged in his throat.“I didn’t mean—”

She turned and walked away. A minute later, he heard the firm thud of her bedroom door slamming shut.

Sammy let loose curses that would have his mom washing his mouth out with soap.

He’d been cruel, and he never wanted to be cruel. But that was what happened when you fought with someone you knew so well—you understood which buttons to push and which words would cut the deepest.

“What are you looking at?” Sammy growled at the green tea in the cabinet. He slammed the door shut and, with another curse, shoved the chili powder back between the cardamom and cinnamon and placed the milk in the fridge’s door storage before he stalked to Olivia’s room and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again.

“Go away.” Her voice was calm, and he heard the distinct sound of a zipper unwinding.

“Olivia, open the door.”

Nothing.

Sammy released a pent-up sigh. “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was shitty of me. Can we please talk about it face-to-face like adults?”

The door flew open, and Olivia glared at him. He could see an open suitcase behind her, half-filled with clothes. “There’s not much to talk about. I shouldn’t have moved in. I appreciate you helping me when my apartment flooded, but I won’t let you hold it over my head.”

The shame thickened. “I’m not holding it over your head.”

“Yes, you are. We had an argument, and you said—and I quote—‘living in your ex’s house, still single because no man on earth can live up to your unrealistic expectations.’ That was a low blow.” Olivia turned her back on him and wedged a neatly folded T-shirt into her suitcase. “We should’ve known this wouldn’t work. We have too much history for us to be normal roommates. I’ll stay in a hotel until I find a new place, and I’ll pay you—”

“Don’t leave.”

She paused for a second before she resumed packing. “—prorated rent for the time I’ve—”

“Olivia.” Sammy placed a hand on her arm. He hadn’t realized he’d stepped into her room until now. “Don’t leave.”

Olivia stilled, though he detected a slight tremor beneath his hand. The surrounding air thickened and sizzled, the heat sliding over Sammy’s skin and setting every nerve ending on fire.

“You can stay as long as you like. I’ll treat you like I would any other roommate. I’m sorry for what I said, and I won’t say anything like that again. It’s not fair, especially when I was the one who asked you to move in.”

Wariness crept into Olivia’s eyes. “Why are you being so nice? You don’t even like me.”

“That’s not true.”

Olivia shot him a skeptical look.

“We’ve had our differences,” Sammy acknowledged. “But what happened between us happened a long time ago. How about we call a truce?” He held out his hand. “No arguing over the past or using it as a weapon. From now on, the only arguments we’ll have—if we have any—are normal roommate arguments. Who left the toilet seat up, who left dishes in the sink overnight...”