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“I know, and I appreciate it, but my life isn’t here.”
“And you’re sure about that?”
I think about what Rylan told me. If I’m unlucky enough to bump into even one shifter in the city, they’ll drag me right back to him. “I’m sure.”
Silence.
“I have experience working in restaurants,” I say, “so you don’t have to worry about me not knowing what I’m doing. I don’t know if you do table service…?”
“We do table service.”
It’s all he says, but it’s clear what he means. What boss would want a girl he saved from pimps anywhere near his paying customers?
No one. That’s who.
I force a smile. “You know what? It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. You’d just be doing me another favor and you’ve already done plenty of those, so forget I said anything.”
Aden takes a step toward me, his brow furrowed. I take one back. Instantly, he halts. “You’re getting the wrong message.” He scrubs a hand over his face, the first sign of… anything I’ve seen from him since he stepped foot in the apartment. “And when did you want to start working?”
I shrug. “Tonight, if you needed me.”
He peels his hand from his face. “You think you’re well enough?”
“I’m okay.”
“You were in a hospital gown with a bandage on your face last night, which tells me the last thing you should be doing is putting in an eight-hour shift serving at a busy bar.”
“It wasn’t anything serious,” I say, hoping my hair hides the stitches on my forehead.
“And your wrist?” his voice is flat.
My heart spikes in alarm.
The silence extends as I fight with the need to tuck my hands under my armpits so he can’t see.
“You had a bandage on your wrist,” he reminds me, his eyes locked on my face. “So you must have had a fracture or a break.”
Thank fuck that’s all he saw.
“It was just a sprain,” I lie, relieved I took it off to shower and couldn’t get it back on again. “And it doesn’t hurt anymore. I unpacked the groceries you sent, and it didn’t twinge even once.”
It throbbed and swelled so badly I had to ice it. The swelling has long since gone down, but I’m not fooling myself that it’s healed. Not by a longshot.
“Can you pour a drink?”
I shake my head no. “But I’m a fast learner.”
“And the thing you’re running from?”
My heart jackhammers and I can only pray he didn’t hear. “I’m not running from anything,” I lie. Again. I’m full of lies today.
After a long stare, he turns to the front door. “I need to discuss this with the others.”
“And if they say no?”
“Then they say no.” He slips out, pulling the door closed behind him and leaving me staring after him, fighting to contain my slow, creeping panic.
Iwantthe answer to be no. But Ineedhim to say yes.
