“I don’t know what I want,” she grits, her hot breath seeping through my shirt. “None of it’s working.” “What do you mean?” “Spending all your money isn’t making me feel better, Rafe. I don’t care for any of your gifts, either. Fuck, when you stopped for gas last night, I took three-hundred dollars from your wallet and felt nothing. She tilts her chin to look up at me. “I put it back.” “Jesus,” I mutter, rubbing her nape. “Really?”
