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I turn toward the quiet street—what the hell is a strip club doing on such a quiet street?—and let the click-clack of my heels fill my ears.
Ryan’s steady footsteps overpower them.
His fingers curl around my upper arm.
The possessive gesture undoes me. How can he be so fucking blind? How can he not see how badly I want to be his? How much I need him to be mine?
“What the fuck, Leigh?”
“Now you want to touch me?”
He makes that what the hell noise.
I pull my arm to my side, but it’s not satisfying. It only rubs salt in the wound.
I keep my back to him. Take another step toward the streetlight. Not that it helps. We’re in West LA, but we’re still two miles from my apartment and these heels aren’t made for walking.
Ryan follows, one pace behind me. “You promised, Leigh.”
“What the fuck did I promise?”
“You’d tell me if I’m about to lose you.”
“You’re not.” But that isn’t true. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. I only know I can’t be here anymore. “I’m going home.”
“I’ll take you.”
“Your car is at her place.”
“I’ll Lyft with you.” His fingers curl around my upper arm—the left this time. He moves closer. Presses his crotch against my ass, his chest against my back.
It’s not a sexual gesture.
It’s a protective one.
I swallow hard. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” Frustration drips into his voice.
He doesn’t see this.
He’s such a smart guy. How can he not see someone so obvious?
“It’s just not.” I hug my purse to my stomach. I tap my toes together.
He presses his body against mine. “Explain it.”
“I want to be alone.”
“I need to make sure you get home okay.”
“I get home okay every day. I don’t need your help.”
“Let me take care of you, Leigh.” His fingers dig into my skin.
That’s what I want.
That’s everything I want.
