The door slammed shut behind you as you kicked off your heels, your frustration boiling over. Zion and you had been arguing since you left the party.

“Keep your stupid shoes!” you snapped, grabbing them and hurling them at Zion. They landed near the couch, but he didn’t move, just leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, his tattoos flexing under the dim hallway light.

“And the purse!” you shouted, throwing it next. “I don’t want your gifts!”

Zion caught the purse midair, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. His dark eyes gleamed with the same maddening mix of playfulness and defiance that had driven you crazy all night.

“You done?” he drawled, his voice low and teasing as he pushed off the wall. He stepped closer, the air between you heavy with tension. Then, with a wicked grin, he added, “That dress was a gift as well.”