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“Tell me more,” he presses. His tone this morning is less suggestive than it was last night, but his raspy, I-just-woke-up edge is seductive.
Even so, the guy seems genuinely interested.
Smoothing the polka-dotted pajama top down over my matching shorts, I sigh. “While I make decent money and meet interesting people from waitressing, I’ve always wanted to do something else. Something fun and creative and flexible. One day, without even thinking, I opened a blank document on my computer and started writing a book.”
He leans forward, his laser gaze burning a blush through my cheeks, and I shift from one foot to the other. “When we met last year, you told me to get a life. Remember?”
He twists his lips, and the apartment suddenly feels small.
Why did I bring that up? Although I meant to call him out for being an ass, I’ve only shown him that what he’d said stuck with me.
I don’t want him to know how much he affects me.
“Why would you remember?” I continue rambling. “It’s not like it matters to you, or to me, for the record. You probably don’t recall a lot of rude things you say—and there are definitely a lot.”
“I remember everything I’ve said to you.”
The air is sucked from my lungs as we lock eyes.
Elijah doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t leave, either.
What the hell does he want from me?
Shifting again under his unsettling scrutiny, I wave a trembling hand in the direction of where the nonfiction and self-help books once rested in the living room and explain, “The boring books—as you call them—were to give me motivation and encouragement to finish my manuscript and publish it someday. They were definitely not just so I could find my inner peace, although I definitely would’ve paid more attention to those sections had I known I’d eventually be living with you.”
Oh, God, I’m breaking out the definitelys.
I have to run away before I embarrass myself further, especially since I finished that sentence in a way that suggests we’re a couple living together.
My voice was too breathy, like I was whispering in his ear, and that was not my intention. I meant to sound irritated. Inconvenienced. Anything other than remotely happy that he’s here.
Elijah smirks but doesn’t otherwise budge or say anything more. The nerve of this guy!
Tingles of awareness from being so vulnerable with him get the best of me, commandeering my brain against my better judgment.
“I’ve never told anyone about this—not even Tarrah or Micah.” I fold my arms under my breasts and grip both my sides. “It would be nice to get some kind words out of you, but what did I expect? All you do is parade around here in all your broody, sexy black wardrobe, and your ridiculous tattoos on display like—”
I clamp my mouth shut, and the sting of humiliation along my hot skin turns into sharp stabs from imaginary needles. Spinning on my heel, I rush toward my room on the other side of the cramped space, extremely aware that he’s watching after me.
“You should come to our show tonight.”
I freeze with my hand on the door, the crack in it allowing me the view of my bed and book cart. I’m so close to safety, but his surprising request stops me. Why would he want me to watch him play?
And why does my traitorous heart hate me so much? It’s thundering in my ears with delight that I might get to see the Elijah Hastings in concert—at his own request, at that.
As much as I loved Fusion Bounds, I was never lucky enough to go to a concert. I got close once, but I had to give away my ticket when my mom fell and needed my help.
During my moment of shock, the muffled slamming of drawers opening and closing, along with silverware clinking, drifts in one ear and out the other until the cringey music of the city finally filters back through.
“Unless you don’t like our music.”
“I haven’t listened to your new stuff,” I mumble.
“It’s much like the songs of Fusion Bounds. You’ve heard those, right?” His amused and knowing tone makes my eye twitch.
“Some,” I lie.
“Come tonight,” he says in a low, gruff voice that lights a thrilling flame through my chest and down to my core. His voice rolls over me from close behind, and the heat that seems to constantly emanate from this confusing man spreads across my back. “Might be good research for your book.”
