Page 6 of Out of Control

Shit. I don’t do good with emotions. And I definitely don’t handle tears well.

“Good,” she asserts with a nod and an unsteady shift of her feet. “Appreciate the help. Now I . . . I have a stage to get to.”

“Nope. Not by yourself you don’t.” What are you doing? You’re not here to babysit. In fact, just the opposite. You’re here to be selfish. To use this time to do whatever the fuck you need to do to come to grips with losing her. But of course, what do I do? I move beside her and start walking despite her protesting groan.

“Why be nice? Why start acting like you care?”

“Why be nice? I think I already showed how nice I can be.” I flex my hand. It’s sore. That’s what I get for plowing it into some prick’s face. Let’s just hope I didn’t do any damage. Holding a steering wheel in g-force doesn’t exactly bode well with a damaged hand.

She doesn’t respond, but her footsteps pick up. Mine do the same. “Typical. I help, I’m the asshole. I don’t help, I’m the asshole. Can’t fucking win, can I?”

Sofia stops in her tracks, and I nearly run into her. Our bodies brush against one another’s and fuck if I don’t notice it. Warm skin. Subtle scent. Expressive eyes.

“Look. I said thank you.” She shakes her hands as if to rid the trembling from them. “It’s just . . . I need even footing, okay?”

“Even footing?” I’m fucking lost.

“Yes. Even footing. I’m not supposed to like you or look your way. It’s just easier not to like you.”

“Not to like me? What do you know about me other than I was quick to defend you when no one else—”

“My brother has warned me about you, okay?” she virtually shouts, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

I scoff. Warned her about me? Who hasn’t been warned about me is the bigger question. “Cruz for the win, huh?” I say sarcastically, referring to her brother—and my new teammate.

Guess I know where I stand in his eyes. Can’t say that it bothers me.

“No, it’s just . . .” She exhales loudly as music starts up again to the far right of us. She turns in its direction and looks into the darkness for a moment.

I stare at her profile. Christ. I always considered Cruz’s little sister to be gorgeous from afar—I’ve never thought of her for anything more than the view—but I am definitely struck by her right now. She’s . . . stunning with the alluring curve of her neck, the fullness of her lips, and her delicate features. But there’s something about her that seems to be calling to me in this moment.

“Just what?” How are you going to follow up that confession, huh?

She turns back to face me and simply studies me. “Just nothing. You didn’t see me. I didn’t see you. What just happened never happened and we’ll be better for it. Sound good?” she asks, and her voice cracks on the last word.

Vulnerable.

That’s what she is. That’s what’s calling me to stay with my feet rooted in place rather than bail like I normally do at the first sign of complication. She always appears to be so confident, so composed and sure of herself. And while I see some of her fire there, I also see the vulnerability that’s calling on everything I’m usually not to protect her.

What the actual fuck?

This is not me.

And yet . . . damn.

“Yep. Sounds perfect,” I say.

“Nice seeing you, then.” She swallows forcibly.

I chuckle at her comment when we both remain in place, staring at each other like a game of chicken.

She’s still unsure of herself.

The surefire way to get her feet back on solid ground—and for me to avoid being this bullshit version of myself who actually cares—is to be me. An asshole. Something I’ve been practicing my whole life.

“Nice seeing me? You don’t really think that, and yet you’re still standing here.” I chuckle and lean in closer so she can hear what I’m saying. “Still trying to figure out why you want me to stay by your side, why you find me attractive and can’t walk away, when you’ve been told to feel nothing for me, huh?”

“That’s such a bullshit lie.” The roll of her eyes says I’m right.