“It’s going to start thundering soon.”
“Perfect. Just what I need to add to this already depressing walk of shame.”
“Talk to me, Angel,” he presses. “Let me take you home.”
“I would rather walk in the rain than talk to you right now.” As the words leave my mouth, a loud roar of thunder stops me as I look up at the sky. Of course, he has to be right.
He groans once the thunder stops. “Then let me walk with you in silence. Can I do that?”
I don’t respond and I carry on walking. I swear the universe is against me, distorting time, and distance because I swore I was closer to my house before Evan turned up. Maybe I’ve started going in the wrong direction. I spot his house with Xavier and Miles, and I know I must be close now. Only a few more minutes and I should be home.
I turned my music back up the second he asked that ridiculous question, but I still hear the car door slam. I glance over at the Escalade and Evan’s standing outside of it, now walking next to me as he unhooks the large umbrella that has appeared in his hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask, exasperated as the rain seeps into my mouth.
He looks at me, his jaw set, and his stare harsh. He opens the umbrella; his body heat makes me shiver more as his shoulder brushes against mine. He lifts the umbrella above us, shielding me from the rain and I can breathe for a second. He nudges his shoulder into mine. “Walking in silence, remember?”
“Do you ever take no for an answer?”
“I understand what consent means if that’s what you’re asking. But you’re clearly upset, and I was taught better than to leave someone to walk alone when they’re upset,” he explains simply. I find that slightly hard to believe, but he sounds serious. “If you really wanted me to leave, you would have pushed me into oncoming traffic by now.”
He’s right, so I don’t say anything.
As much as it pains me, we walk the next few blocks in silence. I don’t want to tell him about Gio. I don’t want to tell him about my date with Max and he doesn’t push it or ask me. It would be too embarrassing and as much as I can usually handle his jokes, right now I just want to sleep and forget today ever happened.
When we get to my apartment, he insists (silently, of course) to walk me up to my floor. I’m a capable woman. I can usually do these things on my own, but he’shelpingme, and I can’t figure out why. He’s being somewhat bearable and it’s messing me up on the inside.
When I get to my door, I stand outside of it, staring back at him.
His white shirt is sticking to him because he’s an idiot and he didn’t wear a jacket. He’s not wearing a tie this time, but his top is slightly unbuttoned, showing off a slice of his tanned chest. His shirt is doing annoyingly wonderful things for his build. It’s stuck to him in all the right places, expressing his large chest and the defined muscles of his stomach. If I didn’t know what he was really like, I would even find him attractive right now. I’d want to run my nails down the creases in his abs and scrape my nails along his back. Especially with all the nice things he’s been doing lately, it’s overwhelming.
The filthy thoughts start to bombard me at once. “Stop doing these nice things for me. It’s confusing.”
He runs his hand through his hair, shaking it off as it drips with water droplets. “What’s confusing?”
“I'm supposed to hate you and you’re not making it easy anymore. What’s your game plan?” I ask. There must be something behind all this. Some grand scheme that I’m not aware of.
“I have no plan,” he says simply. He steps closer to me, my back pressing further against the door. This is the kind of proximity I can’t deal with right now. Not while he’s being so nice to me. He drops his voice lower as he whispers, “As cute as it is watching you try to hate me, just give in. I know you want to.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t want to,” I challenge, watching the way his eyes dim as they zone in on me. He’s so close to me now, I can see the light shade of blue that swirls within his eyes. So close that I can’t tell which of our hearts are beating so fast. I do my best to ignore the strange chill that runs down my spine at his proximity. “You’re annoying and rich and blonde and you talk too much shit. Oh, and did I mention that you’re blonde? It can’t get any worse than that,” I say in one go. I take a deep breath. “Actually, it can. You’re also really-”
He cuts me off with his hand on my face, covering my mouth. I knew his hands were huge, but Jesus Christ, they’re justmassive. They’re still wet from the rain and so is my face, but they still feel warm.
Holy shit.
Evan Branson’s hand is covering my mouth and I'm not telling him to move. Something must be seriously wrong with my braintonight.
“Do you ever know when to shut up?” he growls, those dark green eyes pinning me with a fierce glare. He groans lightly and I shake my head, desperate to smile under his hand. My eyes drop to his hand and then back to his face. “Are you going to stop shit-talking me now or do I have to keep my hand here to keep your little mouth quiet,” he rasps.
This guy can have a really filthy mouth when he wants to. On the outside, he’s this typical nice guy with a slight bad-boy complex, smiling and smirking at everyone. On the inside, he says things like that, and I wonder for a second – asecond– if he uses that kind of language elsewhere.
I nod frantically and he drops his hand.
“God, Branson. If you wanted me to be quiet you could’ve done that in a million different ways,” I sigh, pushing some distance between us as I wipe my mouth. He shrugs.
“Have you got any updates on the situation?” he asks.
“I spoke to Gio, and he says that he doesn’t know Gerard in the way we thought. He’s an old friend of Lucas’ and apparently makes the best falafel in town. He said I was confused,” I explain.
