Page 17 of Fighting Fate

7

Oh fuck!I pause on the street corner of where I live the second I spot him. Seems odd that my brain registers he looks good, but the rest of me… Meh!

This shit between the two of us will never end. It doesn’t matter how hard I push him away; Peter is going to keep chasing me until he gets what he wants. I’m about to pull my big-girl pants up and deal with the bastard when a black taxi comes to a stop outside my door.

The thundering of my heart is impossible to control as the familiar tall, broad, and leanly muscled figure steps out, a bright bunch of flowers in one hand and a jacket in the other. Even from this distance, the scruff on his face looks thicker than I remember. But the memory of it makes the tips of my fingers buzz and my stomach twist with a gazillion knots that I can’t untangle, no matter how deep I breathe.

There’s no way I can stop my smile, watching the bouquet he’s twirling in his hand. But then Rory pauses right outside the front door to my building, staring down at Peter, and ice shoots through my veins. A nonsensical panic overwhelms me, freezing me to the concrete pavement while I watch on.

Fuck! If only I could hear what Rory is saying to Peter because my ex stomps down my steps, clearly pissed. There isn’t a look back as he stalks down the street, away from me and my place.

I’m not sure what to do while Rory buzzes my doorbell. Do I head toward him, or do I make a getaway?

Getaway,my head screams while my body does the complete opposite. The momentum of my feet is impossible to stall. Meanwhile, my thoughts are whirring around in my head like a whirlwind.

What am I doing?

It’s not too late to turn around and leave.

That’s it. I could go visit my sister. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my nephew, and it would be the perfect excuse for stopping by unannounced. Yes! Great idea.

Or it is until Rory spins and his eyes land on me. The frantic rhythm of my heart hiccups, making it hard to catch my breath while he regards me with his intent gaze.

God, he’s not even my type, but sweet fucking Christ, there’s something about him that gets me right in the gut. A tug I can’t fight, no matter how much I try.

“Why are you here?” I ask when I reach the bottom of the steps to the town house, watching as he leans back on the black glossed railings.

“I like you,” he replies plainly, taking each step down with a deliberate slowness that makes the pounding in my chest almost impossible to bear.

When he reaches the pavement, an arm curls around my waist before he guides me onto the first step so that our faces are closer to being level.

“I want to get to know you, Willow, but you clearly have issues—” He nods down the street, in the direction Peter walked off. “—and normally, I would walk the other way. Complications and drama aren’t my thing. I’m blunt and straightforward.”

“That’s great, but why are you telling me all this?” The lump in my throat is impossible to swallow down, and I’m certain that the heat in my cheeks is giving away the fact that my heart frantically nods to everything he’s saying.

The only problem with it is that I’ve been here before. I’ve been told all these wonderful things, and I’ve been foolish enough to believe them until I’m left red-faced and heartbroken.

“You’re telling me you like me, but you don’t know me. We had sex. Once. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” he asks with a cock of his brow. There’s no smirk in sight, but the low rumble of his voice quakes my insides so that it takes all of my energy not to visibly shudder.

“One drunken night…”

“Right…” Rory nods, licking his lips as he throws his jacket over his shoulder. The bulge of his arm makes it difficult to think.

“It wasn’t even mind-blowing.” I’m lying, and my body tenses at the memory of how it ached for him and all the times since that it’s wished for more…that I’ve wished for more. But if he knows any of that, I know that he’ll use it against me, and as much as I hate to admit it…Rory’s gruffness is addictive. Moreish enough that it could lead to trouble. “It was just sex…fucking…”

Silently, he continues staring at me. It’s unnerving, and yet, somehow, it beckons me closer. The quietness only makes the pounding of my heart louder, until I can’t bear it anymore.

“How can you decide you like me off that one night?”

“You’re beautiful, spunky, and you lack a filter…” he says with a grin hitching up one side of his face.

It’s not until his beard scratches my fingertips that I realise I’m tracing the corner of his mouth. I’m an idiot. A fucking moron. You’d think that after the shambles of my last relationship, I would tell him to get lost. It would be the most logical thing to do—walk away and protect myself. Yet, I find it impossible to do. Everything about him differs from every guy I’ve ever dated. From his appearance to the way he looks at me and talks to me. He’s far from pretentious, and I like that.

“What’s not to like?” A long chuckle rumbles from him as he pulls back slightly and holds the bouquet between us.

The colours are stunning and contrasting, coaxing my smile back.

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