He runs a hand through his bedhead and graces me with a simple grin that makes people feel as if they’re getting a side of him no one else gets. It’s a damn good thing I know that’s a lie.
“How ya been, Bells? It’s been a long time.”
“By design.”
He juts out his bottom lip. “That makes me sad.”
“Coy, shut up.”
He laughs as his hair flops to his forehead again. “I’m glad you still have your moxie. I was afraid you’d actually become the basic bitch you pretend to be.”
The laughter stops, but his smile stays put.
I don’t even know why I’m surprised at this point, but I am. Maybe I hoped if we ever did encounter each other again, it would be more civil. Friendly. Less … us. Perhaps I hoped that I’d see Coy and feel more compelled to forgive him. Move on. Be less … hurt.
Clearly, that’s not the case, so there’s no point in pretending to be nice.
“I hate you, Coy Mason.”
His grin grows wider. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”
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