Is he angry? I can’t have him angry at me again. It fucking messes with me. I must look pathetic, because Caleb sits up. His expression softens, and he glances at Rhys’s back before crooking a finger at me. “Come here,” he mouths, and when I do, he pulls me down by the front of my shirt and kisses me—gently and slowly, as if any sudden movements would wake Rhys. Then he pats my cheek as if I’m a puppy and whispers, “Good boy.” I choke in surprise and Caleb grins wickedly.
