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Chapter 12
Iwas a pretty clean guy by nature, so I didn’t have to thunder through the apartment, cleaning moldy plates and picking dirty laundry off the floor. Instead, I was pacing up and down, aware of the danger of a nighttime visit from Mila yet unwilling to make it stop.
Although I was expecting her, the knock at the door startled me. I stomped over and opened the door. She was wearing a t-shirt and jogging pants, her eyes red from crying.
“I’m so sorry for all of this. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Not at all. I was still up.”
She took her shoes off and walked down the short, one-bedroom hallway and into the open kitchen-living area. I closed the door and followed her. For a moment, she just stood there, scanning my apartment, her arms wrapped around her chest. It was a nice apartment for what it was—modern furniture, a few plants here and there, and even an exercise corner with dumbbells. But nothing close to what she must have been used to, of course.
“So this is where Noah Davis lives?”
Not really.
“Pretty much. Do you want some water or tea?”
She shook her head. I gestured at the couch, and she took a seat, looking relieved to sit down.
“Do I have to be worried?” I asked. I was referring to her brother; luckily, she understood.
“No. Just a bad fight.”
I nodded and sat next to her—plenty of space in between. Her eyes scanned the apartment again, then settled on me.
“I’m so sorry. I—I really don’t mean to be a pain in the butt.”
“You’re not, really.”
She nodded again, then looked away. “I can’t even remember the last time Andrei and I fought like this.”
I felt horrible for her. I really did. “That sucks. What was it about, if I may ask?”
She pushed out a sarcastic laugh. “You...you don’t want to know.”
“If you don’t want to talk ab—”
“I do, but you won’t like it,” she interrupted me, looking away, both her cheeks turning red.
If only I could take her into my arms, hold her tight, and tell her that I’d be here for her, no matter what. I almost sighed out loud from the longing.
“You can tell me, really.”
Her beautiful, blue eyes blinked rapidly as she reached for the whiskey glass on the coffee table. Nervously, she took a big sip and returned the glass to the table.
“It...it was about...” she swallowed, “about you.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Me?” I tried to play it innocent.
She took the bait and nodded. “Let’s just say it was more about how I feel about you.”
“Nothing too important, I’m sure,” I joked.
She studied my face, then shook her head, slight anger in her motion. “Noah, if you’re really that clueless, then it’s best for both of us I walk out that door and never talk to you again.”
No!
