And seeing him like this outside those parameters? Well, it makes me feel things I have no right to be feeling, especially because I came here for the same reason.
I can’t breathe—literally cannot suck in even half a breath, because my heart’s in my throat, blocking the airflow.
Why is hehere?
Where are his clothes?!
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand, my body stiff with surprise.
Ezra leans casually against the doorframe, his tattooed arm stretched up like he owns the place,like he’s been here before. The art is so familiar—because I’ve traced every line of it, memorized the patterns inked onto his skin while he slept beside me.
That hand has gripped my throat more times than I can count, his touch fierce, electric, impossible to ever fucking forget.
Right now, though? The sight of those tattoos makes me want to scream.
“What, no hello?” he drawls, his voice infuriatingly smooth, like he’s savoring my reaction. “I was just about to ask you the same thing,morte mea.”
“Don’tcall me that,” I snap, brushing past him into the apartment. The space smells faintly of cedar and coffee, and the sight of Michael’s study notes spread across the kitchen table confirms what I already suspected.
Ezra was never supposed to be here.
So what the fuck is he doing?
He follows, unbothered, his footsteps slow and deliberate. “Relax,” he says as if he has any right to tell me that.
I whirl around to face him. “Where’s Michael?”
Ezra raises an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. He nods his head in the direction of the bedroom, and I peek inside.
Michael is sprawled out on the bed butt ass naked, a sheen of sweat covering his skin. He looks freshly fucked and passed out from the sheer exhaustion of it.
I shudder, because while I was fine with the prospect of studying with him, I realize in this moment that I didn’t ever want to see him in this state,especiallynot as the result of Ezra’s doing.
“What the fuck?” I ask, my voice icy.
He shrugs, moving toward the couch and sinking into it like he’s completely at home. “What, you didn’t think I’d move on? It’s been months.”
I’m half a second away from hurling something at him when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to find the screen lit up with a missed call from Michael just over an hour ago. I guess I didn’t feel it vibrate the first time. My stomach twists. Maybe he was canceling? “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough.” His tone is so casual it’s infuriating, and I want nothing more than to wipe that stupid satisfied look off his face.
Ezra doesn’t budge, his smirk softening into something more calculated. “Why are you so wound up? Let me guess—Michael ditched you, huh? That’s why you’re in such a mood.”
I grit my teeth, refusing to let him bait me. “You don’t know anything about my mood, or about Michael.”
“I knowplentyabout Michael,” he cuts in, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His dark eyes glint with something unbearable.
“Great. Fine,” I snap without hesitation.
Ezra chuckles, low and infuriating. “Always so feisty. One of your better traits, honestly.”
I grab the nearest object—a hunk of twisted metal sculpture from the console table—and hurl it at his head.
He catches it effortlessly, his smirk never wavering. “Nice aim.”
This pisses me off even further, so I grab the matching sculpture that sat next to it and chuck it even harder.
This one hits the mark. Well, barely. It grazes his cheek before hitting the wall behind his head and plopping onto the back of the couch.
