This was not a date.
I pulled a deep breath into my lungs, refusing to let my lower lip tremble like it wanted to. I shouldn’t be sad. I should be angry. And I was. But I was also confused. And hurt.
Smith was standing in the open doorway, a scowl painted on his features as he towered over me. His fingertips curled around the top of the doorframe above his head, and his T-shirt crept up an inch, flashing me a sliver of taut, muscled skin at his waistband.
“Hey,” he said on a heavy exhale after several moments of silence.
He hadn’t invited me in. Just stood there, watching me like he wasn’t sure what to do with me.
“If my being here is an issue, I have no problem turning my ass around and going home.” I had a pint of salted-caramel ice cream in my freezer, and the series I’d been binge
