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The asshole was right. Ican’tstay away from him.
I can force myself away, I can try to be the very thing I’m not—logical—but then I’ll stalk him on social media and sometimes in real life.
From the shadows, like a motherfucking creep.
Now is one of those times.
I lean against my Harley, arms crossed and helmet on. I’m even wearing a leather jacket to be anonymous.
My gaze is on an NGO’s building. This is his favorite charity—the one that organizes marathons and performs volunteer work around the island.
Naturally, Bran is one of their top volunteers since he has that kink for running.
What I love about this building is that the windows are large and I can see what’s going on inside, even if I’m across the street pretending to be having coffee. I haven’t touched the cup since I bought it, considering the helmet and all.
My eyes track Bran’s movements as he carries some chairs to the other side of a giant hall and smiles at something his colleague, a rosy-cheeked curvy brunette, says.
It’s his golden-boy smile, not exactly fake, but it’s not genuine, either. He’s mostly polite as he listens to her blabbering on and on like a fucking chatterbox.
He better stop smiling at her or she’ll do a fast climb to the top of my shit list.
Would she stop fucking talking already?
I need to chill for one second, because we’re not even together anymore.
Not that we were before.
He says something to his male colleague, and I also think about ways to make him die in his sleep, but the guy is not the problem. He mostly seems to engage in the conversation politely like most British people do.
The brunette, however, keeps following Bran from one end of the room to the other, buzzing around him like an annoying fucking bee.
She’s obviously flirting—her eyes are droopy and she keeps twirling her hair and giggling like a fucking schoolgirl. Bran’s body language never changes, though. He’s smiling, yes, but he’s in complete control of the situation.
I know exactly what he looks like when he’s interested, and the girl isn’t getting anything. Not a flaring of his nostrils, a bobbing of his Adam’s apple, or even continuous eye contact.
Either he’s too oblivious to her attempts at catching his attention or he doesn’t care.
Now, it’d be interesting if it was the second option—
She places her hand on his arm and I narrow my eyes. If she doesn’t remove it, that hand will be broken into fucking pieces.
We need to rectify this situation.
I pull out my phone and stare at the text he sent me after the last time I saw him in the Elites’ mansion basement.
Bran
I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out before everything that happened. I’m also really sorry about what my family did. I wish I could’ve stopped it.
Are you okay?
I know you don’t want to talk to me, but can you please tell me if you’re doing okay?
?
I ignored him.
If he really wanted to check on me, he should’ve gotten his ass to the hospital.
