Page 88 of The Renegade Billionaire

He doesn’t answer with words, but when he leans in, slow enough for me to step away if I want to, I know what he’s saying with his movements. When his lips touch down on mine, it’s as though he sucks all the anxiety straight from my body.

How is he such a good kisser?

His palms cradle the back of my head as he slants his lips over mine over and over again before delving in with his tongue. He commands my body with a single kiss, and when I feel him grow long against my stomach, I whimper.

I’m seconds from dropping to the floor and begging when the kitchen door swings open as though God himself blew it off its hinges.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry,” Grey grumbles. I can’t see him over Braxton, but I hear his tennis shoes squeaking against the wood floor. He must be spinning in a circle.

Braxton smirks against my lips before pulling away. “Morning, Grey.”

“Morning,” Grey mutters back.

When Braxton finally steps to the side, I find Grey with his head buried in his phone and pointedly not looking anywhere near my direction.

“Right,” I chirp too happily. “I’ll be back.”

I scoot from the room before either of them can say anything. Making out with Braxton makes me feel more alive than anything else I’ve done in as long as I can remember.

Here’s to hoping it doesn’t bite me in the backside when I’m not expecting it.

“Come on,you dumb thing. Just push over one more inch so I can get to the ones in the back.” I groan while attempting to slide another bin from storage. Either I’m getting older or we’re storing more crap for the Cozy Cup Festival than ever before.

“Can I help?”

My hands freeze on the bright blue bin, and I swallow hard. Holding my breath, I stand slowly and turn. It’s always a toss-up on which version of Harry I’ll get, and standing alone in the Chug’s storage shed is not where I want to be stuck with the drunk version of him.

“Just offering help, Mads.” He stands ten feet outside of the shed with his hands raised but his head bowed.

This is sober, ashamed Harry, and my lungs kick back into gear.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” I ask flatly. When he’s like this, I don’t hate him, I don’t fear him, and I’m not even sad for our shared past. At this point, when he’s not drunk and antagonistic, I only feel indifference—for a man I once thought I loved but who no longer exists.

“I was walking by and saw the light on. Knew you’d be getting ready for the Cozy Cup, so came over to see if you needed any help. It used to be my favorite time of year.”

My heart pinches because every good memory I have of the Cup once involved him.

“And I wanted to…”

“To what, Harry? Apologize again? Don’t you ever just get tired of this cycle?”

He walks to the bin I was struggling with, lifts it, checks the label, then moves it to the back of the shed.

“Thanks,” I say, suddenly exhausted, and it’s only eight.

“I just…I don’t know how to get back to what we had,” he says quietly, the weight of his actions clearly much heavier in the sober hours of the morning.

“Harry, you know that’s never going to happen.”

“Because of Braxton?” Hurt and anger make his words choppy, but I’m done worrying about how I make him feel.

“Because of you. Because of you, Harry. We will never be a couple again. You destroyed every ounce of trust I’ve ever possessed, and you did it twice.”

He nods, and then because he spent so many years doing this with me, lifts the bins he knows I’ll need and places them in the wagon I have outside.

“Do you think… Do you think we’ll ever be able to be friends?” he asks, tucking his hands deep into his pockets.

I don’t even know this person anymore.