Garret blinked, slowly, and she watched his chest rise and fall. “Did you know something about Kyle?”
She threw her boot at him. He caught it. She cursed.
“I knew he was a dirty cheating slime ball. Just like you.”
Reagan tugged on her socks and her knee-high boot, tightening the lace in record speed. Standing, she marched to him and seized the other from his grasp, refusing to look at him. Her balance teetered as she tried to slip it on, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her helplessness. She braced one hand on the wall as she loosened the lace and lugged on the boot, refusing to sit. Refusing to reveal any kind of vulnerability or regret.
Garret remained in the doorway, watching. Unmoving. She pushed past him, his woodsy scent all the more reason to hate him, or at least hate the effect he had on her. She donned her jacket, slipped on her gloves, and tore out the front door.
“It’s too far to walk,” Garret called behind her.
“I’ll take my chances.”
Garret pulled on her arm and whipped her around. Eye level with his chest, she didn’t fail to notice the tension streaming out of every pore of his body. The cords in his neck bulged with each breath. His eyes, a deep, dark, abysmal dye, wouldn’t let her inside his head. Which was a good thing, now that she knew the psychosis of his mental state.