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“Look, just wait a minute…”
“This isn’t going to go away, Indigo. I know why you don’t want the police involved, but you have to believe me… This won’t stop.”
“I don’t want security,” I say. “I’m on vacation. I just want to feel free for thefirsttime in a year. Plus, I don’t need it. That call will have placated him a bit. He won’t do anything while I’m here. He’s full of shit.”
He studies me as if unsure what to do for a moment.
“I can hold them off until you get back to DC.”
“Look, I don’t want you getting involved in this mess.”
“I’m sorry, Indie. It’s too late for that now. I am involved. There’s no going back from that now. I’ll need your number. To arrange things…”
I swallow before speaking the number, watching as he calls it and his flashes up on my screen. I click on it once it stops ringing and plug it into my phone. My fingers want to name him Moody Prick, but I don’t, instead typing Greyson.
As I look at his name, it strikes me how beautiful it is.
Grey.
When I first met him, I thought the color suited him.
Despite the fact that he’s hotter than a freshly deep-fried churro, he seemed dour and uptight and extremely condescending. A moody cloud…
Now, I’m not so sure…
He’s certainly not the jovial type, but his eye contact is the most vibrant I've ever seen, and his presence bold, arresting, electrifying. He’s not overly talkative, but there’s no one whose words I hang onto quite like this, whose every utterance seems to set off secret fireworks hidden out of view inside me.
“I should get back,” I say and he nods.
As we make it to the door, I feel a hand wind gently around my upper arm. I glance down at it and he slides it away quickly, as if thinking I’m suddenly too fragile and messed up to be touched, as if the bold way he was holding me when we danced won’t happen again.
Damaged goods, and all.
I hate that feeling. The pity in his eyes. The concern.
I don't wantanyof it. I never have.Not one bit.
In fact, I’m quite sure I preferred it when he was an unapologetic asshole, but before I can say it, he speaks…
“Indigo… He didn’t hurt you… inthatway… You know what I mean…”
My lips part, willing me to speak.
Only, I don’t want to be a victim. Or even a survivor. I just want to get back to the life I had before I knew he existed.
“Did he?
I shake my head slowly as he examines my face so studiously that I can’t take it anymore.
My finger reaches for the door handle only to have his hand blanket mine as I stare at the pronounced veins on his strong, large golden hand.
“I need a name, Indie,” he breathes into the side of my face, the air from his throat fresh, comforting. “I can find it out, but I want you to trust me.”
I tremble as his fingers wrap around the tips of mine. “Indie…”
“Micah,” I say, finally raising my dewy eyes to find his so close to me that I can barely look away. “Micah Korhonen.”
It feels like forever before he releases my hand so that I can turn the handle and leave.
