He closes the space between them, trying to kiss her. She turns her head. The sting ricochets through him into me. But instead of releasing her, he holds on tighter.
“I fell for the girl under the mask. I know she’s still in there… just trapped in a different kind of cage.”
Her bottom lip quivers.
He strokes it with his thumb. “Text me when you get home.”
She nods.
This time, when he brushes his lips over hers, she kisses him back, whispering, “I’m sorry… I fucked up… I’m sorry…”
My hand rolls into a fist. I want to wipe away her tears. Promise that she doesn’t have to be sorry. Tell her I understand. I’ve been under her father’s thumb for only a fraction of the time she was— Iunderstand. It makes me physically ill to stand here, doing nothing, but I let Cade comfort her, guide her into the car and close the door.
Side by side, we watch the taillights until the car turns the corner.
“You’re not loyal to Sinclair, are you?”
I shake my head.
He nods.
Knuckles knock against the back of my hand. My finger tentatively curls around his.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Let’s. As in together.
“Where do you wanna go?” I ask.
Blue and honey eyes meet mine. I could drown in them.
“Anywhere but home.”
Sixty
CADE
Neat.Minimal decor. Not exactly modern— more contemporary. Dark wood, whites and creams. At first glance, Sebastian’s apartment is vacant of personality, but on closer inspection, it’s crammed full of him.
A pair of dirty work boots sits on a mat by the door.
There’s a bowl of oranges on the kitchen counter.
A folded flannel blanket drapes over the arm of the sofa.
His FMU jersey hangs in a box frame on the wall.
I’m ambushed by the intimate memory of laying in his bed, wearing only that jersey as his body rolled over mine. A shiver walks down my spine. I spin away, dragging a finger across the numerous books stuffed into the bookshelf beside an oversized recliner.
“Youwouldread in your grandpa chair,” I smirk.
Soft footsteps pad from the bedroom. My breath catches.
He’s still got the backwards hat on, but he’s ditched the shoes, button down and jeans in favor of a plain white tee, socks and pajama pants. By the way he moves through the space, I can tell he’s much more comfortable here. Unlike the club.
“Those books are the only action I’ve gotten in years,” hechuckles, setting a laptop balanced on his hip onto the coffee table.
“You get off tobooks?”
