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He tells me things like this, he told me about things even before, so I have no doubts.

I walk in, this time keeping my eyes off my sulky bastard of a man and slide the tray down in the centre of the seating on one of the low tables. I have to avoid looking his way and get with the programme that we can barely stand each other. Jackson slides his beside mine neatly, an eerie silence of men staring at us, and as I go to follow him out, I’m halted by that snappy tone.

“Pour it … get your head out of your ass, Walters.” A harsh cutting tone that signals I’m not done here. Alexi sounds pissed still, and I spin to catch him glaring at me as though I have committed the ultimate sin by expecting them to pour their own. They expect servitude of women in his world, even I know that. What I didn’t expect was him to still be in the throes of prick mode and singling me out again.

Why the fuck did he make me come up here if he was going t