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The body—or rather mylovelyneighbor—scrambles to stand up, wiping her cheeks and… I think she stifles a sob.
Something akin to anger and a strong sense of protectiveness winds its way to my stomach. Jesus, for someone who was numb for weeks, today has been a damn roller coaster.
“Has he hurt you?” I grab her shoulders, inspecting her for cuts or bruises. My pulse drums in my temples, not leaving any room for reason. Why I’m so vehemently involved in her situation is beyond me.
“What?”
“Has he hurt you? What’s wrong, London?” Anger continues to creep up my spine.
Satisfied she is unharmed, I finally snap my eyes to hers. A web of red lines veils her watery eyes.
We stare at each other. My hands slide down her arms, but I don’t let go of her, holding her wrists. Her pulse beats as frantically as mine, like a miniature drum against my fingertips.
Our chests heave. Her eyes burn me. My mouth goes dry. Energy zaps around us, probably short-circuiting the grid on this block. We stay completely still. Every encounter we’ve had in this hallway has been fucked up.
I rake my gaze over her silky hair, barely stopping myself from fisting it. With my thumb, I wipe a tear from her cheek. Her protruding cheekbones feel delicate under my touch. But she isn’t delicate.
I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her unleash the dragon within twice already. She is not delicate, and that’s why the sorrow is more concerning.
I trail my thumb over her bottom lip and her breath hitches with a gasp or another swallowed sob. I’m about to lean in when she jerks away.
“I’m fine,” she rasps.
Sure you are. I’m confident she is pissed at herself for momentarily allowing me to see her vulnerable. Yet again. She wanted a kiss.
“Okay, you’re fine. Were you just waiting for me? No need to cry, sweetheart, I’m here,” I drawl.
She looks for a moment like someone made her eat garbage, and I fear she is going to puke. Then she shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Yet you kissed me the other day.” I allow my smile to stretch languidly.
She puffs out an exasperated breath. “It was a momentary lack of self-control.”
“You can’t control yourself around me?”
She closes her eyes briefly and growls. “I don’t have time for this.” She turns to leave.
“Wait.” I dropped the documents on the floor in my haste when I opened the door from the stairway. I pick them up and try to give them to her.
She looks at them as if I’m handing her a plate piled with shit. I’m ready to flip her off. This woman is infuriating.
Finally, she snatches the documents. “Fuck you.” She leaves.
So much for helping her. Fuck her with her rage problems and abusive partner. She is not my problem.
Time to shave, shower and head to Chelsea. Hooking up is just what I need.
Chapter5
London
The stylist fusses with my hair, but I keep my eyes closed. Chitchat is the last thing I need. Tonight is the event of the year, and I can’t imagine how to get through it without lashing out. Or worse. Crying.
Dad finally told everyone about his illness. He starts radiation therapy next week and asked me to accompany him. He didn’t ask Bianca, Syd or Paris. He asked me.
Why am I his choice to handle the situation? Am I the toughest? Or does he want someone by his side who knows the system best? Or is it his attempt to compensate me for the similar opportunity Ididn’tget all those years ago?
I’m not even sure why I try to dissect his motivation. It’s not like him choosing me is the point here. My father is about to embark on a journey that will be grueling for him, and all of us.
