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Another tear rolls down my cheek.
This time, I wipe it away. If I'm going to cry, I'm going to do it someplace sensible. I have to hold it together for long enough to get someplace sensible.
Okay. I can do that.
I steel my nerves, turn the corner, and march to the door.
And there he is, stepping outside.
Kit.
He's holding my purse.
His other hand is in his back pocket.
His dark eyes are still filled with frustration.
He slides his arm around my waist and whisks me around the corner. A camera flashes in my eyes. A paparazzi. This place is a celebrity hang out.
Kit ignores it. He leans in to whisper in my ear. "You want to talk?"
"Not here."
His grip on my waist tightens. He pulls me closer. Then his other arm is around me and his breath is warming my neck.
God those arms feel good.
I rest my head on his chest and soak in all the warmth of his body. A million questions fill my head— what the hell does this mean? Did he say anything to Joel? Does Mal know he's out here with me? Holding me?—but none of them seem as important as how good it feels in his arms.
"I can't go home right now." I press my lips together. "I can't even look at Mal."
He nods. "You can come home with me." His voice is caring, not seductive, but the words still set my body on fire.
"But Mal and Joel and—"
"I'll take care of it." He pulls back enough to look into my eyes.
There's an apology in his gaze.
But the words I'm sorry don't fall from his lips.
Neither one of us says anything. But it's not like the stare down with my brother in the alley. This isn't a power play. This isn't full of who knows best tension.
This is not at all familial.
Or platonic.
Kit is staring into my eyes like he's staring into my soul.
Like my happiness means more to him than anything else.
He brushes a stray hair from my eye. He leans close enough to kiss me.
His lips go to my ear instead. "I came in a cab."
I nod. I don't care how we leave. Just that we get to his place.
Alone.
