“Yeah, I’m a piece of s**t,” he cuts in smoothly. “Now let’s talk about why I’m a piece of shit.”
I open my mouth, ready to fire back, but nothing comes out. Because when a guy stands in front of you with that much confidence, saying things he absolutely shouldn’t be saying, it short-circuits your entire vocabulary.
Slowly, he walks to the door, and he shuts it right in Allie’s face.
He turns back toward me, and my throat goes dry. I know I should speak, should say literally anything, but I also know my voice would come out weak and embarrassing, and I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
“Sit.” He gestures once he stops in front of me.
Is he seriously telling me to sit on my own bed? The audacity, the disrespect, the nerve.
And yet… I sit.
Yeah. Shame? Don’t know her.
He settles
