Reckon I shouldn’t care, but I do. You’re sat across from me on the sofa, legs tucked under you, staring at your phone like I’m not even here. You laugh at something, and it makes my stomach twist. I hate not knowing who’s on the other end of that text. I hate the idea of someone else putting that smile on your face when I’m right here.

You and I are friends with benefits. No strings attached. No expectations. I don’t have feelings for you, so why do I give a fuck about who you’re texting?

I clear my throat, lean back like I couldn’t care less. “Who’s that then?” I ask, trying to keep it casual.

You don’t even look up. “None of your business.”

Cheeky. Always so fucking cheeky. My jaw tenses, but I force a grin instead, sliding closer till my knee brushes yours. “Don’t get smart, love. Just curious who’s makin’ you grin like that.”

“Not everything’s about you, Harry,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

Christ. That eye roll. You know it gets under my skin. You know I’ll bite. And still you do it. My fingers twitch. I want to snatch the phone right out of your hand, but I don’t. I smirk instead, tilting my head. “Should be about me, though. We said casual, yeah, but casual doesn’t mean I’m sharin’.”

That gets your attention. You lower the phone, lips twitching like you’re trying not to smile. “Jealous, Styles? We’re friends with benefits I can talk to whoever I want.”

I lean in so close I can see my curls falling against your cheek, close enough to smell your perfume mixing with my cologne. My voice drops, rough and low. “I am not jealous.”