Page 62 of Collided

He's offering to help me. But why?

“No. It's all right,” I reply quickly, and take my hand back to fidget with my fingers.

He stiffens before saying in a cold tone, “I’m not asking for permission. I’m telling you.”

I frown at him. “And I’m telling you that I don't need your help. I'll figure it out.”

“What’s wrong with me trying to help you?”

“We’re not friends.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t have to be your friend to help you.”

“No, you don’t have—”He’s right.

“I want to help you,” he tells me softly.

Those words hit me in the chest. Air escapes my lungs, and I clutch the ends of my top to understand the simple concept that’s lost on me. No one has ever tried to help me before. It’s always me helping others.

“But why?” I whisper.

There has to be an ulterior motive. A guy like him won’t help a girl like me. No one has before.

He arches an eyebrow. “There has to be a fucking reason?”

“Yes.”

“Then my reason is, I don’t fucking know. I just want to.” He looks deep into my eyes as if he might find the answer in them.

The dim light brings out the sharp edges of his handsome face. A glint of candle fire flickers through the black dot of his eyes and makes them look magical.

My heart flutters like a trapped bird inside my ribcage wanting to reach him.

The chiseled edges of his face appear so fierce and uninviting, but then there are his eyes, soft and blue, and so welcoming.

“You don’t have to.”

He ignores me. “You can come to my house, and we can work out the location to take pictures.”

Slipping his hand into his pocket he pulls out his phone. “I’ve got the latest model. The camera is brilliant.”

I salivate over his sleek, dark gray phone. It looks new and expensive with a big screen. His iPhone doesn't have a home button, unlike mine.

I badly want to hold it. I’m not into phones, but the latest iPhones make me weak.

“Do you want to test it out?” He advances his phone in my direction as if he can sense my eagerness.

My eyes widen. “What? No! It must work fine.”

I don’t want to make a fool of myself by dropping it.

He puts his phone in my lap. “Try it.”

I switch on the phone and swipe up the black lock screen when the password screen pulls up. He tells me the password and I put it in. The black home screen appears with all the apps arranged in an order with hundred plus notifications.

I open the camera app and aim it at him. His eyes stare at the lens darkly and he barely eases his facial muscles when I snap a photo. I open it in the gallery.

“Satisfied?” he asks as he moves closer to me.

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