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“What’s wrong?” Zeke repeats my question in an incredulous tenor. “Fuck me, Lily… you’re fifteen.”
“I’m sixteen on Valentine’s Day.”
The fingers of his left hand tighten around the swell of my hip as he drags his right-hand through the long locks at the top of his head. “And I’ll be twenty-bloody-three two weeks before that.”
“So?”
“You’re a kid. I shouldn’t have touched you like that—no one should.”
I grip the front of his cut. “I wanted you to kiss me.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he tells me as horror floods his expression. “You’re off-limits. Too young. My VP’s daughter. The club princess. Fuckin’ hell… I’d kill anyone else who tried what I…”
When he trails off, I swallow deep. Rejection settles in my marrow. Deep down right in the centre of my soul. I blink fast, trying to ward off the tears that well in my eyes as humiliation takes hold. Letting go of his Shamrocks cut, I stumble backward, determined to put space between us. On unsteady legs, I turn in a circle, my mind unable to decipher an escape route as I vaguely take in the quickly-filling parking lot and the early-morning crowd of Northam residents going about their business without a clue that I’m praying for the ground to swallow me up.
“Lily,” Zeke says my name in a low tone I’ve never heard before. He approaches me with his hands held out at his sides. I freeze in place, observing his advance from outside my own body. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—don’t cry, sweet thing.”
As he hugs me to him, I clutch at his cut and press my face to his chest. His closeness soothes me, his familiar scent reminding me that he’s one of the few constants in my life. As mortifying as this is, he won’t desert me over it.
The need to cry subsides as I confess, “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Nothin’ to be embarrassed by,” he tells me without hesitation. “If you were a couple years older, I’d go to war to have you. It’s just, right now…” he trails off, running a hand through his hair. “Put it this way, Lil, knowing that I shouldn’t have kissed you, doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it again.”
I lift my head so I can see his eyes. “So, all I have to do is wait until I’m eighteen for you to kiss me again?”
Shutters fall over his face, blocking his true thoughts from me. “Sure…”
“What if I don’t want to wait that long?”
Dropping his forehead to mine, Zeke presses a kiss to the end of my nose. “How do you think I feel? I’ve tasted you, sweet thing… it’s gonna bloody well kill me not to steal some more of you.”
I don’t know what to say.
I’m so far out of my depth.
It’s one thing to gossip with Nadia about my crush on Zeke.
Hearing him talk about tasting me again is a revelation. His admission wreaks havoc on my heart and makes my body come alive. I push up to my tiptoes, ready to kiss him again. He moves quicker than me, pushing me away before he scoops up my helmet from the asphalt where I dropped it.
“This subject is closed,” Zeke says in a tone that brooks no argument when I open my mouth to speak. “You’re a kid. I’m a fuckin’ adult. This—” He gestures between us. “—is off-limits ’til you’re eighteen.”
“O-kay.”
He picks his helmet up and places it on the bike seat. Pulling a cigarette out of his ever-present packet, Zeke lights up, drags in a lungful of nicotine, then regards me with a steady gaze as he scans me from head to toe. I want to squirm under his scrutiny, but I don’t give into the urge. Instead, I match his inspection with one of my own, deliberately returning my focus to his lips in a silent reminder that I also know what he tastes like.
“Who knows.” Zeke flicks his butt on the ground and grinds it out with his boot. “You mightn’t even look twice at me once you know your worth.”
He’s wrong.
I know my worth and I know what I want.
I’ve known for years.
Just like I know that arguing the point right now is futile.
Ezekiel Miles doesn’t change his mind once it’s made up.
So, as I follow him into the café to indulge my caffeine addiction, I remain quiet.
