Wren

“You’re going to hold that over my head, aren’t you?” Ezra drawls. “I said I’m sorry, and I promise you, he’s going to pay for talking to you.”

I scoff, staring at the boxes of durex.

“Ribbed…flavored…” my nose wrinkles, “…that’s gross. Extra large.” I snort at that, my eyes locking on his frame. “You wish, Ezra.”

He glances over, smirking. “You saw for yourself last night, didn’t you?”

My laughter dies out immediately, the memory of his fists ...