“June, maybe,” she counters. “That guy wasn’t half-bad to look at.”
“Four,” Corey says loudly, drowning out our intermission, “don’t talk about feelings.”
I let this one sit with me. “So far, we haven’t,” I say honestly. Unless you count Matvey’s sparks of possessiveness, all those You’re mine here and This p***y is mine there, we never exactly had a heart-to-heart. Truth be told, I can hardly see it happening.
After all, it’s still up for debate whether Matvey has a heart.
Corey hums like a wise village elder. “Good. Keep it that way. And lastly—”
“Lastly,” Corey repeats, “don’t ask for more. Don’t wish for more. Do not ever, ever let yourself think it’s okay to want more. That’s just asking for trouble.”
I stare at the ceiling, lost in thought. What would “more” even look like in
