What a Bastard!

POV: TESSA

"Of course, it's a no! Absolutely not," I snapped, the words tearing out of my throat like sharp splinters.

The sheer audacity radiating from the man standing in front of me sent a raw shockwave of fury straight into my veins. He didn't flinch. He didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. He just stood there, his broad shoulders blocking half the kitchen light, looking at me like I was a puzzle he had just decided to solve. The entitlement rolling off him was suffocating. We had known each other for a grand total of two minutes, and he had the nerve to blatantly ask me for sex.

I rolled my eyes, a scoff breaking past my lips as I glared at his infuriating, sculptured face. I shoved past him without waiting for whatever arrogant comeback he had queued up. My blood roared in my ears, drowning out the ambient noise of the apartment. I stormed into the living room, zeroing in on the side table where I had dropped my things earlier. I snatched my bag by the strap, my knuckles turning white.

"I'm leaving. Thanks for tonight. Love you guys," I announced to the room, not stopping my march toward the front door.

Mila stood up from the couch, her brow furrowing. "Is everything okay?"

I paused with my hand on the doorknob. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Rhys stepping out of the kitchen, his posture relaxed, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. I forced my mouth into a tight, plastic smile and directed it solely at Mila and our friends.

"Of course. See you tomorrow," I said.

I opened the door and walked out into the chilly night air, letting the heavy door snap shut behind me. I practically ran down the stairs, unable to get out of that building fast enough. Every step I took down the pavement felt like striking a match. He wanted to have sex. Just like that. A casual transaction.

The fiery indignation was still burning hot in my chest the following morning. I woke up far earlier than I wanted to on a Sunday, staring at the ceiling, my jaw tight. The memory of his deep voice dropping that proposition in the kitchen looped in my head like a bad commercial.

Needing an escape from my own thoughts, I pulled on a heavy winter coat over my clothes and walked the few blocks down to Mila’s apartment. The biting morning cold did nothing to cool my temper. When Mila opened her door, wearing a comfortable sweatsuit, she immediately ushered me inside, taking my coat and handing me a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

We sat across from each other at her small kitchen table. Between us sat a rich, dark chocolate cake that her husband, Wyatt, had baked the day before. Normally, Wyatt’s baking was enough to lift my spirits, but today, I was a live wire.

Mila took a sip from her mug and set it down, her eyes locking onto mine with the precision of a laser. "Now tell me why you ran out of there last night," she demanded. "We tried to get it out of Rhys, but he played dumb. I saw the way you looked at him before you left. Something happened."

I stabbed my fork into the cake. "He thought it was a brilliant idea to ask me to have sex after two minutes of conversation."

Mila’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping slightly. "He said he wanted to have sex with you?"

"He basically implied he had nothing better to do and figured I was available for the night," I vented, tossing my fork onto the plate. "The man is a monumental bastard. I have never met anyone so arrogant in my entire life."

Instead of giving me the righteous outrage I was looking for, Mila leaned over her mug, a sudden gleam of provocation sparking in her eyes. The corners of her mouth twitched upward.

"Or," Mila countered, "he thought you were hot and really wanted to have sex with you. Didn't you think about accepting for even a second?"

I stared at her, betrayed. "What? Of course not!"

"Tessa, come on," Mila pressed, a teasing lilt in her voice. "The man is built like a Greek god. You cannot deny he is incredibly hot."

The image of Rhys standing in the kitchen—the dark stubble shadowing his strong jaw, the sheer width of his chest, the intense heat in his eyes—flashed across the back of my retinas. I shoved the mental picture away and sat up straighter, refusing to concede an inch of ground.

"No. Not for a second," I stated, my tone sharp enough to cut glass. "He was a complete jerk. I don't care what he looks like."

"Are you sure?" Mila prodded, enjoying this way too much.

"Yes, I'm sure," I snapped, finalizing the discussion. "I know exactly what I don't want, and a walking ego trip is at the top of that list. Can we please drop it?"

Mila held her hands up in surrender, though the smirk never left her face.

Unfortunately for me, the universe had a sick sense of humor. My ability to avoid the giant bastard expired less than an hour later.

I left Mila’s apartment feeling marginally better, pulling my coat tighter around myself as I navigated the morning sidewalks. I turned the corner and froze. Coming straight down the pavement toward me were Wyatt and Rhys. They were returning from their morning run, dressed in heavy workout gear. Both of them were sweating, their breath pluming in the cold winter air.

Panic spiked in my chest. I considered turning around and walking the other way, but Wyatt spotted me before I could retreat.

"Hey, Tess!" Wyatt called out, jogging the last few feet to stop in front of me. He pulled me into a quick, suffocating hug, smelling of cold air and sweat. "Morning. You already see Mila?"

"Good morning," I managed to say, pasting on a stiff, polite smile. "Yeah, we had breakfast. Your cake was amazing, by the way."

"Glad you liked it," Wyatt grinned, catching his breath. He clapped a hand on Rhys's shoulder, who had stopped right beside him.

I kept my gaze fixed firmly on Wyatt, refusing to acknowledge the massive presence standing inches away. "Well, I should let you guys get inside and shower. See you later."

I stepped around them, intending to make a clean, immediate escape. I made it exactly three steps before that deep, rumbling voice cut through the street noise.

"Tessa."

I stopped dead in my tracks. My eyes squeezed shut for a fleeting second before I forced myself to turn around. Rhys stood there, his large hands shoved casually into the pockets of his workout shorts. He was wearing a black beanie that pulled his hair back, making the harsh, masculine lines of his face even more pronounced. He looked relaxed, confident, and deeply irritating. I made zero effort to hide the hostility burning in my stare.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice flat.

"I almost believed everything was fine a minute ago," Rhys said, his tone infuriatingly steady. "It seems you might have gotten a bad first impression of me."

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. "Really? Why would you think that?" I shot back, the sarcasm dripping from every word.

He didn't flinch. Instead, he took a step closer, towering over me. "I didn't mean to offend you with the proposition last night."

"You didn't offend me," I lied, lifting my chin.

Rhys raised a dark eyebrow, clearly not buying a single word. "It didn't seem that way. Dex told me it was a bad idea, but I accidentally overheard your friend loud and clear. She said you desperately needed to get laid. So, I figured..."

The air vanished from my lungs. A wave of intense, scalding humiliation washed over my face, followed instantly by a rush of blinding rage. He had listened to a private conversation between Mila and me. He had stood outside a door, eavesdropped on my personal life, and used it as an excuse to treat me like easy prey.

"You were eavesdropping on us?" I spat, my voice shaking with anger.

Rhys shrugged, unbothered. "I was walking in. I heard what I heard."

"What you did tells me exactly the kind of guy you are," I said, my chest heaving as I glared up at him. "The kind I want to stay far, far away from. You thought you could just walk up and offer me sex because you heard my friend make a joke?"

Instead of backing down, instead of showing a single ounce of shame or remorse, Rhys leaned in slightly, pushing right into arrogant territory.

"You've never had sex with someone you just met?" he challenged, looking at me like I was the one acting crazy. "Because I think you're overreacting. It was just an invitation for sex."

My hands balled into tight fists at my sides. "You're only managing to be an even bigger asshole," I snapped, my volume rising on the quiet street.

"I was just trying to clear the air," he said.

"Stop offering empty apologies," I fired back. "You don't feel an ounce of guilt. You think you did me a favor. Let’s get one thing straight. Moving forward, I will be polite to you, and only because you are Dexter’s brother. That is it. Have a nice life."

I spun on my heel, the cold wind whipping my hair across my face, and aggressively walked away. I could feel his gaze burning into my back with every step I took, but I didn't turn around.

By the time Tuesday rolled around, that encounter on the street had left me in a lingering, terrible mood.

I had a throbbing headache pulsing behind my eyes as Mila and I walked into the local restaurant bar for our planned group lunch. Cleo, Dex, and Wyatt were already seated at a wide booth in the back corner. The noise of the restaurant clattered around us—glasses clinking, loud conversations, the low hum of baseline music—but it did nothing to distract me from the dull pain in my temples.

Mila slid into the booth next to Wyatt, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. I dropped into the seat across from them, murmuring a general greeting to the table.

"You okay, Tess?" Wyatt asked after a few minutes, noticing my silence.

"Just a headache," I muttered, rubbing my forehead.

"Maybe this will cheer you up," Cleo announced. She reached down into her tote bag and pulled out two crisp, pink Victoria’s Secret gift bags. She slid one across the table to Mila, and pushed the second one over to me.

Mila’s face lit up. "It’s not my birthday, but I am definitely not complaining."

She eagerly tore into the tissue paper, pulling out a small, sleek box. She popped the lid off and held up the garment inside. It was a tiny, scandalous pink lace lingerie set. The fabric was practically nonexistent, just a web of thin straps and sheer lace meant to cover nothing and reveal everything.

Wyatt let out a low whistle, a highly mischievous, hungry smirk spreading across his face as he reached out to touch the lace. On the other side of the booth, Dexter took one look at the tiny garment and shook his head in deep, conservative disapproval, focusing on his menu.

Cleo laughed at their reactions before turning her excited gaze to me. "Come on, Tessa. Open yours."

I looked down at the pristine pink box sitting on the dark wood of the restaurant table. The thought of opening sexy lingerie right now, in the middle of a crowded bar while my head pounded, made my bad mood plummet straight through the floor. It felt like a cruel joke, a physical prop mocking the disaster of my current romantic life.

I left the box sitting exactly where it was.

"I think this kind of gift makes perfect sense for Mila," I sighed, gesturing vaguely toward Wyatt, who was still admiring the pink lace in his wife's hands. "But in my case, it'll probably end up being eaten by moths in my closet."

My self-deprecating comment hung in the air for a brief, quiet second over the noise of the bar.

Suddenly, Dexter stiffened in his chair. He stopped looking at his menu, his eyes fixing hard on something over my shoulder, near the entrance of the restaurant.

"Shit..." Dexter muttered under his breath.

The curse was quiet, but it carried enough weight to make the entire table freeze. We all turned our heads, following his line of sight toward the front doors.

My stomach bottomed out.

Rhys was confidently striding directly our way.