Michael's POV
My hands balled into fists, fighting the urge to do something I'd regret.
"Absolutely not," I snapped. "Reagan stumbled in here completely wasted. And you—"
My gaze sharpened as I studied her face. "Have you been drinking tonight?"
She swept her hair over one shoulder with deliberate nonchalance. "Possibly."
That single word should have stoked the rage already simmering in my chest, should have pushed me over the edge.
Instead, it ignited a twisted desire to discover exactly what kind of alcohol lingered on her tongue.
"You've got balls," I muttered, shoving those dangerous thoughts aside.
She crossed her arms, defiant. "You have no right to act possessive. Reagan's a grown man. I am too. Besides, he's my—"
"Former boyfriend," I cut her off, teeth grinding. "You made it crystal clear you didn't want him. So what game are you playing now?"
