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Chapter four
Mikaela
In the stoop of Jamie’s apartment building, a little drunk and full of laughter, I reach again to take my bag from Josh’s shoulder. He pulls back quickly and I stumble forwards, placing my hand on his chest to steady myself.
“Come on, I need that.” I’m giggling like a school girl and I can’t seem to stop.
Gone is that charming smile. Now he grins wickedly, his grip tightening on the handle as his free arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me in.
“If I give you your bag back, Mikaela,” he whispers, “then you’ll fish those keys out and go inside, and I’ll have to accept that tonight is over.”
His eyes focus on me and my laughter dies. I take a steadying breath and try to ignore the mingling scent of musky leather and sandalwood.
“But tomorrow has so much potential.” I can hear the shake in my voice as I look up to him and feel myself sinking. I focus on his eyes, eyes that contain whispers that bubble beneath the dark surface, and my chest tightens.
“You know.” He drops his voice to a whisper as he moves to brush my hair back from my face, before caressing the back of my neck. “You might be right.”
Kissing Josh is like a drug - intoxicating and irresponsible - and I want to accept the thrum of it in my veins. It’s hurried and rough and, as his arm tightens around me and he pulls me closer still, I try to give myself to it.I try to stop thinking. His tongue swipes against my lips, pushing them apart as my hands press against his chest. Breath becomes shorter and harder to find and his hand slips from my waist to my ass, grabbing me firmly, as I gasp against him.
Relax.
Pain, like a simmering volcano, lies beneath my skin; pulling to the surface with every frantic grab and he pushes me back into the guard rail, his fingers gripping the hem of my skirt and scraping up my thigh while his lips move along my jaw, down my neck.
Breathe.
I close my eyes to the world - focusing solely on the feeling of his body pressing against mine, on the man that is holding me, focusing only on this moment in front of me - when the door swings open and the world comes crashing back into full view.
My hands, still pressed against Josh’s broad chest, push, and he steps back smirking. He doesn’t so much as glance in the direction of the person interrupting us. He doesn’t seem to care. Instead, his eyes slowly work their way up the length of me again as I press my fingers into my lips, my eyes stinging, and spin to face reality.
Blue ice freezes me to my core and I feel sick. Instantly.
Ben
It hits me with the force of a thousand trucks. Rage.Unadulterated, disgusting rage. And I hate it.
Mikaela’s head is rolled back as he hitches her knee up and her lips part. Her eyes are screwed shut as she takes in a shaky breath.
Without thinking, I push the door open with as much strength as its hinges can take. The hard crash of it pulls them apart.
My eyes never leave her. Not as he steps back, looking way too sure of himself for a guy whose face could easily be ruined if he makes one wrong move. Not as she straightens her dress and awkwardly pushes at her lips, as if she can somehow wipe away hidden stains of the kiss I just witnessed and it could be like it never happened. Not even as her glassy jade eyes meet my own and widen slightly.
Glassy. Because she’s been drinking.
And the rage shifts. It disappears so suddenly that she must see it, she must be watching it run from her, concern stepping forwards to take its place, because hidden in the depth of her shock is something absolutely painful. I would recognise it anywhere. Mikaela is ashamed.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” I make the effort to keep my voice level and disinterested when I cast a smile towards her, but she’s no longer looking at me. She stares at her feet, avoiding my gaze, before glancing towards Josh who’s just standing there, grinning at her like she’s some prize to be won, bathing in self-satisfaction.The rage crawls back. Just thinking of his lips against her makes my skin itch. “I was just leaving, so you two can resume whateverthatwas in a moment.” I bristle as I run my eyes over the asshole once before turning back to her. “Mik, can I have a word?”
She gawks at me, her eyes bugging and her jaw hanging a little slack, and incoherent noises spill from her lips as she shuffles away slightly.
When she doesn’t respond in anything akin to a sentence, I place my hand against her arm and guide her down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, just far enough away to avoid prying eyes and listening ears.
“Mik, what the hell are you doing?”
I can see the confusion searing behind her eyes as mine burn into her and I wait.
Those eyes are like pages of a book when she’s had too much to drink - something anyone who paid any attention to her would know - and I watch as all of her emotions – every thought that crosses her mind – write themselves into them before she finally settles on one. My shoulders square a fraction and I stiffen just a little before she can utter a word.
“What the hell am I doing?” She repeats my words as if they’re incomprehensible, her arms crossing over her chest as she mirrors my stance, squaring her shoulders and wobbling slightly in the process.
