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This is a test.
“Maybe next week,” Ava says, a little high-pitched and squeaky.
I desperately search for the words I need to prove to Kate that I can pass her test. “You can go.” I spit it out fast before my mouth seizes shut. She can go out, but you bet your arse she won’t be drinking in excess. In fact, probably best she doesn’t drink at all, especially if she insists I’m not allowed to go with them. Which she will.
“No,” Ava retorts, adamant. “We have The Manor anniversary tomorrow. I’ll be knackered.” I’d like to think she’s dead set on spending the whole weekend with me. Sadly, I realize she’s simply trying to avoid a showdown in front of our friends. Kate can go fuck herself if she thinks she’s putting me on the spot and I’ll bow. Not when it comes to Ava’s safety and my sanity.
“Hey, he said it’s cool.” Kate’s eyes remain on mine. She must see the warning radiating from me.
“I’ll speak to you later.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Kate, her grin impish, returns her attention to Ava, and I appreciate the alleviation of pressure immediately. “Later.”
I pull Ava on, keen to get myself out of the spotlight and any further scrutiny, damning Kate’s arse to hell. Testing me. I might take that fucking van back.
As we wander side by side down the pavement, Ava tucked under my arm, I feel the familiar sense of despondency creeping up on me. That was the fastest hour in the history of hours. And the next four hours are guaranteed to feel like days. I notice Ava’s laser focus stare aimed forward, her face contemplative. And I know exactly what she’s thinking.
She stops and looks at me. “If I go out, I won’t be drinking, will I?”
“No.” I don’t beat around the bush. Honestly is the best policy.
I flinch at my own thoughts—I have a nerve—and Ava marches off, looking quite exasperated. I just don’t understand. Why on earth would she want to make herself vulnerable like that? Risk making terrible choices, and then have a god-awful hangover to show for it that’ll wipe her out for a day, therefore steal more time from me. “You can have a drink at the party,” I call, going after her, hoping to appease her. If she must drink, fine, but we need to come to mutually agreeable terms, andmypresence in the presence of alcohol seems reasonable.
“Would you get the doormen to spy on me too?” she asks.
She has such a negative perception of everything. “I don’t ask them to spy on you, Ava. I ask them to watch over you.”
“And call you if I don’t follow the rules?”
“No,” I say slowly, nudging her, tightening my arm around her neck on a roll of my eyes. “And call me if you are rolling around on the bar floor.” I look at the back of her head accusingly. “With your nonexistent dress around your waist.” That fucking dress.
She has no comeback, as proven when she remains silent and lets me walk us on to her office. I wonder if today is the day she gets over it and lets Patrick know that we’re together.
But... no.
“You’ve got to let me go now,” she says quietly, tentatively. We need to fix this. Her parents, her boss. They should know about us. I grumble a protest that she ignores. “What are you going to do for the rest of the day?”
“Think about you.”
She sighs. “I’ll be back at yours as soon as I finish work.”.
My God, what will it take for her to accept where she lives? “Ours,” I grate. “What time?” I need specifics. I won’t offer to pick her up. I know she’ll refuse so, although it kills me, and feels completely fucking pointless when I’m free, I refrain.
“Six-ish.”
There’s that word again.Ish. Translated, vague. “You like that tag on, don’t you?” I tilt my head as she shifts uncomfortably. “Ish.”
She reaches up, puckering her lips. It’s an opportunity I would never pass up. I seize her and get my fix, swooping her over my arm, kissing her madly. “God, I fucking love, love, love you,” I whisper, and she smiles, looking up at me as I scan every inch of her face, refreshing all of it in my mind.
“I know you do.”
Standing her up, I put my face in her neck, feeling myself swelling up behind my trousers.Oh dear. But it’s inevitable.Fucking work.“I can’t get enough of you,” I bite at her flesh, sucking, licking. “Let me take you home.”
She doesn’t have the chance to answer, her phone interrupting us, but I don’t let it deter me from my intended persuasion as she rummages through her handbag and I continue ravishing her throat. Which means when she silently groans, I feel the vibration against my lips. I seriously dislike how tense she’s become too.
I withdraw, finding her face. Don’t like her expression either. “Who is it?” I ask.
Her phone goes into her bag unanswered. “Just a client. I’ll see you at your place.” She moves away a bit too hastily. Hate that too.
