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“Tulley is almost a decade older than you. You realize that, right?”
“Yes, Jack. I can count.”
He studies me for a long beat before wiping his hands and tossing the balled-up napkin on his plate. “Ready to get out of here?”
“Sure.” I swipe the car keys from the table as he reaches for them. “But I’m driving.”
He scoffs, practically chasing me out the door. “The hell you are. I’ve too much to live for.”
In the tiny parking lot, I dangle the keys in front of him. “You want these? I’ll give them back if you tell the truth.”
“About what?”
“What do you care if there’s something happening with me and Ben Tulley? Seriously, Jack. Why do you care so much?”
28
ILEAN AGAINST THE DRIVER’S SIDE OF THE CAR ASIWAIT FOR HIMto answer. He takes his sweet-ass time, fighting it till the bitter end before sighing in surrender.
“I’m just protective, that’s all.”
There’s that word again.Protective. Nate said something similar when we had lunch that day, admitting I trigger a protective instinct in him. Do I really do that? And why? I always thought I came off as independent and strong, not as a damsel in distress. I wonder what it is they’re both seeing that I’m not.
“You worry me sometimes, all right? You’re not the girl who goes around kissing blokes a decade older.”
“Maybe I am.” I flash him a defiant look. “Women date older men all the time. Celeste’s boyfriend is forty-three.”
“You’re not Celeste.”
The flicker of concern in his eyes unleashes a rush of frustration that comes out in the form of a strangled groan.
“Then who am I? Because sometimes I have no goddamn idea. Don’t you get it? That’s why I’m here! It’s clichéd as fuck, but I came to London to find myself. I want to have adventures. I want to kiss lords. And I don’t need a lecture or a protector. I already have my father clinging to my leg to stop me from leaving the house. Don’tbe like that too. If you want to protect someone, go shadow Lee for a day or something. I don’t need it.”
His lips twitch at that.
“What?” I demand.
Jack leans against the car beside me, sliding his hands in the pockets of his coat. Then he turns a fraction to face me. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Still cute.”
It starts again. The nervous static in my fingertips. The flutters in my belly. Half my attention becomes consumed with my own breathing because suddenly it sounds too loud between my ears. This energy that builds in the space between us is so obvious it practically manifests in colors and strands of light. I hate that I feel this way around him and I miss it when it’s gone.
“Don’t say stuff like that if you don’t mean it,” I warn.
He blinks innocently. “What’d I do?”
“Seriously?” He’s impossible. “You’re doing this on purpose, right? To get a rise out of me?”
“Why would I do that?”
Jack’s got this thing he does with his face. Smirking at his own mischief. It if wasn’t so hot, I’d smack him upside the head. Charming guys who know they’re charming are the worst.
“Cut it out,” I order.
“Your nose sort of twitches and your lips curl up when you’re mad,” he says. “I like it.”
