“Are you mad at me?”

And he even had the audacity to say it with a smirk, like this is what he wanted, he wanted to see her hurt and fume. Green eyes raked over her with that same intensity that always left her feeling too exposed.

Of course she was mad. How could she not be? While she normally found a sort of reckless thrill within his charming edge, he had officially gone too far. She couldn’t sit back and let him say something so inherently vulgar, launch such an intentional, immistakeable, direct hit. She couldn’t give even the slightest indication that she was amused or anything less than furious. Because if she didn’t draw the line somewhere, there was no telling how far he would push.

But he wanted to see her mad. Which meant she couldn’t let on how upset she was.

Something gently buzzed in the back of her mind, reminding her of his tendency to tease and play. That tiny, damned part of her that still wanted to see the good in him whispered that this was likely only a joke he had taken too far.

To her credit, her face betrayed none of the storm brewing within her.

“Well, if that’s actually what you think, then that’s a pretty good indication about kind of guy you actually are.”

This was the test. Give him an opportunity to take it back. Despite her stubborn pride, she so desperately wanted him to apologize, say he was only joking. But then again, he was the only person she had met with as much stubborness nested within as she had.

His expression hardened, smirk gone. Not the answer he had wanted.

“Yeah. Guess it is.”

There it was. His retreat. Which gave her the answer. Because if he wanted to keep playing games, she knew she owed it to her tattered heart to cut her losses and bolt.

She held his gaze a second longer than she should have, before nodding, turning on her heel, and walking away. Step by agonizing step.

She didn’t have to turn around to know that he was not following her.