Marcus
Who the hell is Kevin?
I stare at the message thread, thumb hovering over the keyboard but not typing. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't fucking care. But I do.
Kevin.
She didn't say he was anything to her. She didn't say he was a friend. But just…Kevin. The name sounds significant somehow and I am not sure I like it.
I swipe a hand down my jaw, pacing the length of my penthouse like it'll help burn off the frustration building in my chest.
I drag a hand through my hair and stop in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights bleeding into the dark like veins of gold. Somewhere down there, Rebecca is at a dinner party—laughing, maybe. Smiling. Letting someone named Kevin sit too damn close.
My jaw tightens.
I don't have the right to be angry. I have no claim on Rebecca. Heck I even told her I am not into her. But now the image of her next to some well-mannered, predictably charming "Kevin" is eating me alive.
I scroll back through the messages.
