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Not taking his eyes off me, he brings the fruit to his mouth, and bites just the tip. His long fingers are clasped loosely, carelessly around the knife.
Clearing my throat, I look away.
“Want one?”
A quick, fleeting glance shows a tin of mostly half-eaten chocolate-covered strawberries; no doubt stolen.
“Where’d you get those?” I hear myself ask before I can stop myself.
He’s grinning when I meet his gaze. Like he got exactly what he set out for. My neck prickles, and I can’t tell if it’s just irritation, or something…else.
“That’s neither here nor there,” he says with a little flick of his free hand. With that same hand, he pushes back his hair from his brow. It’s useless. It just flops right back over.
His gray-green eyes sparkle with a mix of excitement and something sharper. Brittle, almost.
“Where’s your Prince Charming?” He narrows his eyes. “Come to think of it, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without that horrid growth attached to your hip.”
So he has been watching me…
I was hoping I was just paranoid.
“Don’t talk that way about him,” I find myself saying, voice tight with barely restrained ire.
His lips are still tipped up in that seemingly ever-present smirk of his. “Don’t talk that way about him,” he mocks in a low, singsong voice.
“You’re fucking insane,” I say, shaking my head.
His eyes flare, and I brace myself for the violence I’ve heard so much about these last few weeks. Not that he’s actually done anything. Pretty sure he’d be long gone if he had.
And still, the rumor mill spins.
But color me fucking surprised—and that doesn’t happen often—when instead he tips his head back and laughs. Chills race down my spine and I fucking hate it. Fucking hate the effect he so clearly still has on me despite not having actually interacted with him in six years.
“That’s it?” he says loudly. “That’s all you’ve got?” His chuckles are slow to fade, and he’s still grinning when he drops his chin to his chest, meeting my gaze through the fringe of his lashes. “Come now, Valey,” he says much quieter. “No need to be bashful. You don’t have to hold back with me.”
My jaw ticks. “Fuck this, I’m out.”
Turning on my heel, I grip the pass tightly in my hand, welcoming the slight burn from the wood digging into my skin. I’m just about to throw open the door and leave, when his next words halt me.
“Wait, no, I’m sorry,” he says in a rush, and then I hear a shuffle and a low thud. I turn my head just enough to peek a look over my shoulder.
He’s standing now, arms hanging at his sides, fingers twitching by his thighs. The knife is still in his grip, and there’s a stain on the side of his light khakis from where his fingers smeared chocolate and red juices. But he doesn’t even seem to notice. Or maybe it’s that he just doesn’t care.
Again, I find my gaze flitting down to his bright-ass socks.
“Don’t go,” he says in a soft, high-pitched voice, almost like that of a child’s.
My brow furrows as I slowly turn around, taking him in, noting the sudden change in his demeanor. Crossing my arms over my chest, I dart my gaze around his face. His eyes are wide, nearly bulging, like he’s one of those creepy kewpie dolls. He chews on the corner of his lip, eyeing me warily.
He forces a laugh and shrugs his shoulders. “I forgot my manners, it would seem.” He presses the hand holding the knife to his chest and says, “Let’s start over. I’m Aston, like the car.”
I don’t say anything, wondering if this is some sort of joke.
His mouth twitches ever so slightly as he points the knife at me. “And you’re Vale, like a wedding veil, but spelled V-A-L-E.”
Everything in me goes cold as I’m suddenly thrown back ten years, having this same exact conversation with my new foster brother. Saying those exact words…
Aston’s watching me expectantly with a steady, unfazed gaze. It should be unsettling, but I’m too busy trying not to lose my shit.
