63
Tristan POV
I can't stop tapping my foot. The motion is restless, sharp—like the tension crawling through every inch of my body. The passenger seat vibrates beneath me with every quick staccato beat of my boot against the floor.
Kellan glances at me out of the corner of his eye, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. His fingers drum lazily on the steering wheel, the picture of calm.
"I thought you didn't like him," he drawls, tone casual but cutting.
"So this panic in your demeanor is... quite interesting."
I grit my teeth.
"I like him," I snap, before I can stop myself. "Of course I like him. I like him a lot."
The admission tastes bitter and raw.
Kellan chuckles low in his chest, eyes still on the road.
"Then why have you—" he pauses, tilting his head with mock thoughtfulness, "—to steal words straight from my mate's mouth—beenanasshole?"
