Tangled- No Strings Attached?

Chapter Twenty-Three: Wine

Or maybe it's the fact that I need an explanation.

Why do I need one?

Either way, my feet move before I can stop them, carrying me forward, past the threshold of his apartment.

Gray steps aside, letting me in without a word, then follows, shutting the door behind us with a quiet click.

The air inside is warmer than the hallway, but I still feel cold.

I turn to face him, arms folding tightly over my chest. "You gonna tell me what that was?"

Gray doesn't answer immediately.

Instead, he moves to the kitchen, each calm, measured step grating against my nerves. Like this isn't a big deal. Like I'm not standing here, waiting.

Is it a big deal?

He grabs an unopened bottle of red wine, pops it open effortlessly, and pours two glasses, filling them just under halfway.

I watch him, every move deliberate, every action calculated. He props his hands on the counter, leaning against it, his face unreadable. His jaw shifts like he's weighing his words. Deciding how much to give.

Then, finally, he sighs. "Cleo needed a place to crash."

I blink. My breath quickens. "The fuck does that mean? She has her own place, and she didn't seem intoxicated to me. So, why would she need a place to stay, and why would that place be here?"

His expression flickers—just for a second—before he blows out a frustrated breath and rakes a hand through his hair.

"She just needed a place to crash last night. That's it."

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "That's it?"

His gaze meets mine. Steady. Unwavering. "That's it."

I search his face, looking for cracks, for something real, but his expression remains locked down. Smooth. Careful.

Too careful.

I shake my head, my fingers curling into fists. "You expect me to believe that?"

His jaw tightens. "It's the truth."

My stomach twists. Is it?

Because something about this feels wrong. The way Cleo looked at me. The way she looked at him. Like there's more to this than he's letting on.

I take a slow step forward, testing. "And you weren't going to mention it?"

His stare doesn't waver. "Why would I? Would it have changed anything?"

The question knocks the breath out of me.

Because no.

It wouldn't have.

But it should.

I open my mouth, then close it, my throat tightening. Damn him.

Gray pushes off the counter, stepping toward me with slow, deliberate movements. He closes the space between us effortlessly like he already knows I won't move away.

And it pisses me off—how he can still have this effect on me, even now.

His voice drops lower, sending a slow ache through me. "If you have something to say, Leo..." He pauses, eyes dark, daring. "Then say it."

I hate the way my pulse reacts, the way my body registers the heat of him before my brain can remind me why I'm here.

I lift my chin, refusing to back down. "Fine." My voice is sharper than before, unwavering. "Did you sleep with her?"

Gray doesn't flinch. Doesn't look away.

He just stands there, staring at me, letting the silence stretch. Letting the seconds tick by.

And that alone is enough to make my heart slam against my ribs.

Because he should've answered by now.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. I swear I can hear the blood rushing in my ears, the steady pounding of my pulse hammering against my skull.

Gray just stands there, his eyes locked on mine, unreadable as ever.

And the fact that he still hasn't answered yet? That tells me everything.

My stomach twists. My throat tightens.

"Wow." I let out a sharp, humorless laugh, stepping back like I need distance. Like space will somehow make this situation less infuriating. "You really aren't gonna deny it?"

Gray exhales through his nose, his jaw clenching like I'm the one testing his patience.

And that sets me off.

"Oh, fuck you, Gray," I snap, throwing my arms up. "You don't get to be annoyed right now! You don't get to act like I'm being ridiculous when Cleo—my sister—just walked out of your apartment at—" I glance at the clock on the microwave. "—almost midnight!"

Gray scrubs a hand down his face before gripping the back of his neck, rolling out some tension like he needs to steady himself.

Then, finally, he speaks.

"I didn't sleep with her."

His voice is low, firm, like he's choosing each word carefully.

I narrow my eyes, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. "You sure about that? Because it sure as hell looked like—"

"Leo." His voice cuts through mine, sharp enough to slice.

I snap my mouth shut, breathing hard.

Then, after a beat, he sighs and shakes his head. "One of Ian's sisters is already enough fucking stress. Why the hell would I hook up with both of you?"

My stomach flips.

My lips part slightly, but no words come out.

He's watching me now, waiting for a reaction.

And fuck him—because he gets one.

Heat floods my cheeks before I can stop it. I hate the way my pulse stutters, the way my body betrays me, latching onto the implication behind his words before my brain can process them.

He didn't say Cleo's the stress.

He said one of Ian's sisters. Me.

I swallow hard. "So, what?" I force out, refusing to let my voice waver. "You're admitting this—whatever this is—stresses you out? That I'm just a weight on your shoulders?"

His lips twitch—just barely.

But it's there.

That fucking smirk.

That smug, knowing look, like he sees everything happening inside me and isn't afraid to call me out on it.

"I never said it was bad stress," he murmurs.

My pulse stumbles. My breath catches.

And suddenly, I forget why I was mad in the first place.

I let out a slow, shaky breath as the anger drains from me, chipping away bit by bit, leaving behind something far more frustrating.

"I hate you," I mutter, knowing it's a lie the second it leaves my lips.

Gray smirks—because of course he does. "No, you don't," he says smoothly, his voice dripping with certainty.

Before I can fire back, he tilts my chin up with the lightest touch, his fingers warm against my skin. Then, without hesitation, he dips down and presses a soft, deliberate kiss to my lips.

It's brief. Barely enough to satisfy. But enough to leave me breathless.

He pulls back, his gaze steady, unreadable. "Relax," he murmurs. "Let's have some wine."