Page 219 of Collided

Marie snaps her fingers. “That’s a great idea.”

Heath rolls his eyes. “It’s fucking not.”

“You’ll have fun,” Sebastian assures me, then turns to Marie. Both of them talk in quiet voices.

“You aren’t eating,” Heath points out.

Well, I can’t exactly tell him that I ran out of fries and it’s the only thing I’m craving right now.

“I’m not hungry.”

Heath looks irritated but rummages through the bags, takes out the fries, and hands them to me. “Eat.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“If you are not going to feed yourself, then I will.”

“You aren’t serious.”

His arm rests on the back of my chair, and he leans in closer. “I’m always serious when it comes to you.”

I turn my head away and a strand of my hair comes to the front, concealing me from his view.

Perfect timing hair strand. Hide me.

The way Heath looks at me with sheer concentration makes my heart beat a thousand miles per minute and my mind forgets how sentences and words are made. I swear I forget the English language.

He breaks my thoughts by holding that hair strand and gently tucks it behind my ear. His warm fingers slide over the side of my neck like silk mixed with gravel because of the calluses he’s got from fighting. It’s a strange combination of soft and rough, yet in the perfect proportion.

Bending down to my ear, he speaks in a low, dark voice. “I see you.”

My pulse pounds loudly in my ears.

If he presses his skin against mine, he’ll be able to feel the beats of my erratic heart or how warm I am despite the cold temperature in the room.

After a long moment, he moves away, and I want to protest. As much as his closeness unsettles me, I want it because it’s the good kind. I’m not afraid of him because he’ll hurt me, but what he might make me feel if we cross the line. I’m nervous but excited too because I trust him. I trust him with myself.

Heath puts a book on my lap. I look closely and realize it’s my copy.

“How do you have it?” I pick it up and flip through the pages. I see annotations that are in a different handwritingandin pencil—those are his thoughts.

“You left it in my room.”

When I see remarks on one of the spicy scenes, I want to dig my own grave and bury myself in it.

He’s read those scenes. And he even left comments.

I can’t handle the shame.

“I did?” I ask in a squeak high voice that makes him smile.

“You sure did, Rose.”

Oh my God.

What’s the quickest way to escape this situation?

I need it right now.

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