Roman popped the caps off two beers and handed me one. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, walking toward the blazing bonfire in his backyard. “We’re not friends.”
I sat on a damp log across from him and sipped the drink. “We don’t have to be friends.”
With his hand clasped hard around the bottle, he leaned forward toward the fire. “I don’t accept this. I don’t like this. I f*****g hate this thing going on between you and my mate,” he said, orange flames reflecting in his bitter gold eyes.
hate After taking another swing, I nodded. “I know you do.”
“I f****d s**t up too much and tried so hard to get Isabella back. I don’t plan on losing her again.” He tipped his drink back. “I will not lose her again.”
will not Not knowing what the hell he wanted me to say, I decided on the truth
