Page 23 of Trailer Trash

He smirks, then deletes each name. Brax takes the longest. I make a mental note of that.

“Same on your socials.”

For a second, he just looks at me. This would be a lot easier if he didn’t have those dark, mesmerizing eyes. I’m also facing the side without the fresh scars. This side has the perfectly cut jawline and flawless skin. I need to remember to sit on the other side — the one with the damage. The one that reminds me there are consequences of getting close to someone like him.

He finally deletes them, too. “Nobody’s asked me to do this before.”

“Your family is too trusting,” I say.

His voice drops, and there is a melancholy note to it.

“Or they don’t care.”

“I am sure you just wore them out being a manipulative—”

“Here’s a rule,” he says, “don’t call me that.”

“Well! Then stop manipulating people.”

He doesn’t look at me, just mumbles, “What’s the next rule?”

“I don’t know, but let’s go to your house.”

“I’d rather stay here,” he counters.

“That’s funny. No, no, we won’t be hanging out at my place.”

I jump to my feet, but Killian’s spread knees block the narrow gap between the couch and coffee table.

“Move.”

He doesn’t.

I squeeze through anyway. My hip catches the table, and I pitch forward. My palm lands on his solid thigh, and I nearly fall onto his lap. My heart races as I find myself way too close, hovering over him like he’s a black abyss.

Yet, I want to fall in.

Everything about being this close to a fucked-up man feels right. At least for me. I guess it’s familiar.

I snap out of it.

“Oh, gosh. Sorry,” I huff and push off him.

He neither helps nor fights me.

Once I stand, I look down. His brown eyes pin me.

“Do I repulse you?” he asks too casually for such a loaded question.

I wince. Answering it feels dangerous.

“Uh, no.”

“Is it my face?”

“God, no.”

“Then what?”