6
Roan
She hated me. Her tone, her body language, her lack of accepting my apology, said it all.
Kept my d**k from jacking back up to full attention like it’d done when we’d stood in our staring match outdoors.
We ate in silence, my gaze often falling to her chest. I’d read enough old paperback romances to know what those hard points meant, but nothing that had come out of her mouth agreed with what her body suggested.
That truth kept my blood from swelling south.
“Do you hate me?” I found myself asking again, the need to know the truth like a nagging jay, insistent and annoying—but I’d promised myself I’d find a way to make things better between us.
Annie let out a sigh while poking at the rest of her food with her fork. “No. I don’t hate you, Roan.”
“I am sorry,” I said yet again
