- RAYA -
"You're still angry," I say, twisting the noodles around my fork while I'm perched on a stool over the kitchen island watching Dex on the opposite side, serving himself before coming to sit next to me.
There is still tension in his shoulders, across his brow, in his forearms. I can almost trace the line of it—see where his brother has invaded his body and dug in, roping himself into Dex's muscles. And I'm not sure how to fix it. If mind-blowing shower sex wasn't enough to take care of it at least for the night, then I'm not sure there is anything I can do. The time alone cooking must have allowed Dex's mind to wander back to the fact that Lawson read what I wrote.
