“I—”
“You don’t actually know me.” Now that the dam has broken, I can’t hold back the flood of rage I’m feeling. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I’d like to get to know you,” he says, too baffled to shut me up.
“After we’re mates, right? When you can rearrange all the little bits of me?”
“Of course not!”
I shake my head and keep my voice low and neutral so we don’t cause a scene. Not here, at a restaurant owned by a pack member. It’s too full of eyes and furry f*****g ears. “If you knew me at all, you’d know I don’t spend hours upon hours in libraries. I hate libraries. I hate reading. I’ve tried to do as little as possible since we left school.”
“Noted, then,” he tries to appease me.
But I don’t stop there. “You would know that Negril is the last place I would want to vacation
