AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Already mentally preparing my speech to send Becs or Austin away, I reach for the lock before leaning into the door and quickly glancing through the peephole.
My body freezes, and I pull my hand away from the lock.
That motherfucker!
Izaac stands on the other side of my door, his hands gripping the frame on either side, his head hung low. He’s been here a few times over the past two weeks, and each time, he’s looked even worse. I hate that this is eating him up, but at the same time, that’s not my problem.
He was the one who made the decision to keep me in the dark, and he was the one who decided to walk into that room, knowing damn well who stood before him.
My hands shake as tears fill my eyes. My chest aches worse every time I see him. Can I be in love with someone who would do that to me? He’s not the man I thought he was.
“Open the door, Aspen,” he rumbles out in the hallway. “I know you’re there. I can hear you.”
“You could be out in that hall in the middle of a psychotic break, and I still wouldn’t open the door for you, Izaac,” I say, turning around and flopping heavily against the door. “I’ve already told you, you’re not welcome here. Not anymore.”
“Let me in, Aspen. I just wanna talk.”
“You’re seriously fucked in the head if you think I’m about to let you in here. Just go.”
“You don’t think I’ll wait you out?” he questions as I feel him fall against the door, probably mimicking my stance. “I’ve got all night.”
I roll my eyes, scoffing with irritation. “You can’t go two minutes without eating. You’ll starve.”
“Say what you want, but I anticipated this,” he says, his voice no longer coming from above me, but below, having slid down the door until he’s sitting against it. “I brought snacks.”
Fucking asshole.
“And when you need to pee?”
Something bangs against the door. “What do you think this is for?”
“Ha,” I say with a scoff. “Suit yourself.”
Then just to make a point, I stride back across my apartment and drop down onto the couch, more than ready to spend every waking hour right here. If that asshole wants to sit at my door for the foreseeable future, then that’s on his bad judgment. I have Grey’s Anatomy to binge, and just because I’m a petty bitch, I’ll turn the volume up just enough to drown out anything he might have to say, but not loud enough that he can actually enjoy the show. If he wants to sit there all night, then he can suffer while doing it.
Getting comfortable, I pull my blanket up over me and hit play, only I’m suddenly not able to concentrate like I was before, and what I would usually find the sweetest pleasure in has become background noise as all my attention remains focused on the closed door.
An hour turns into two, and when silent tears track down my face, I hit pause on my show before getting up and tiptoeing across my home. I see the slight shadow under my door, telling me that he’s still here, and I have to give him credit, if roles were reversed, I would have taken off long ago. My bladder couldn’t possibly handle a stakeout, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before I pee into a bottle.
I stand by the door and lean against the drywall with a soft sigh. Despite how I feel about him right now, being close to him gives me comfort. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive him. Then just as he has, I slide down until my ass hits the floor and we’re sitting back-to-back, trapped in an awful silence with my front door between us.
Pulling my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and stare across my apartment, desperately wishing things could be different. Wishing he never had to hurt me like that. Wishing I never had to love him. Why couldn’t this have been easy? Why did it have to be him in that room? I needed it to be anyone but him.
As if sensing my need for comfort, a block of chocolate slides under the door. “I can smell your perfume, Birdy. Do you have any idea what the scent does to me?”
He did not just call me that.
Anger blasts through my veins as I spring to my feet, and with the quickest flick of my wrist, I reach up and unlock the door before twisting the handle and letting his body weight do the rest. The door flings wide as Izaac crashes into my apartment, his back slamming against my floor as a loudOomphtears from his chest.
“What the fu—”
“YOU DON’T GET TO CALL ME THAT!” I throw myself at him, my fists already swinging, and as my body crashes into his, he catches me with ease. He flips us until my back is against the creaky floorboards, and he hovers over me, his strong grip locked around my wrists, holding both hands captive above my head.
“You’re an asshole,” I grit, willing myself not to let him see me cry as he keeps me pinned.
“If I let you go, are you going to try to attack me again?”
God, why does he have to smell so good?
