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I’m screwed.
Pearl isn’t going anywhere, and I can’t either. So what? I must sustain this torture forever?
Beaten, I let my head drop. My eyes focus past the windshield.
My vision is invaded by red.
She’s in the road at the foot of the hood, watching me having a complete meltdown. Her face is straight—no attitude, no amusement, no anything.
Still fucking beautiful.
I’m out of fight. My resistance has snapped. What the fuck am I doing? I stare at her as she stares at me.
I don’t need to tell her. She comes to the passenger side and gets in the car.
Quiet.
Eyes away from me, looking out of the window.
I take a moment, breathe in and out discreetly, clear my vision, and pull out, calmer than I’m feeling. But definitely more settled now she’s actually in my car. The alarm starts beeping, telling me she’s not put her seatbelt on. I don’t know what comes over me. I reach across, my attention split between my task and my driving, and pull it across her body, my face disturbingly close to hers. I catch her eye as I’m pushing in the clip. She doesn’t stop me. She doesn’t protest. But she does swallow, her gaze dropping to my mouth as I pull away and return my attention to the road.
The car is suddenly ringing, and Allison’s name comes up on the screen. I stare at it for a few moments before turning my eyes Pearl’s way, seeing she’s staring at the screen too.
I connect the call. “Something’s come up,” I say flatly. And then hang up, focusing on the road.
The silence is screaming, and in an effort to kill it, I hit the screen on the dashboard and select my recent tracks, feeling her eyes burning into my profile. Feeling my heart smashing in my chest. Bokka’s Town of Strangers comes through the speakers, the track sounding as moody as I’m feeling. Pearl reaches for the volume control, turning it up, obviously needing more noise.
I look out the corner of my eye, shifting in my seat, feeling the heat rising in the car, so I crank up the air con. Pearl watches me. I pull a button of my shirt open. She watches me do that too. Then she turns the volume up some more. I cast my eyes across to her again. She looks directly at me.
Speaking without speaking.
Understanding.
I inhale deeply, my chest swelling, the tension thick. I look at her when she’s not looking at me. She looks at me when I’m not looking at her. Glances being stolen constantly. The track ends. She starts it again. And the cycle continues. Looks. Pressure. Desire so fucking intense, the car is pulsing.
It feels like years waiting for the gates to open when we arrive at the house. I drive through, shifting in my seat, raking a hand through my hair, noticing Pearl tucking hers behind her ear, giving perfect sight to her profile. Once I’ve turned off the engine, I remain in my seat, the music continuing to play. One more look at Pearl before I get out.
I walk up the steps to the house, removing my suit jacket, and push my way through the door, turning right and heading to the office.
I enter.
Take my phone out of my jacket pocket and drape it on the couch.
Go to the chair.
Lower.
I pull my music app up and put the track back on, my eyes on the door.
Patient.
But not.
Will she come?
I sink deeper into my seat, strung, hard, my elbow wedged into the armrest, the knuckle of my index finger brushing over my top lip.
Fighting my conscience. Holding my breath.
