Page 12 of Only With You

My anger becomes tenfold. “Just because you’re best friends with Gabby and Polly, it doesn’t mean you can show up unannounced whenever you want.”

“Trust me, being here is the last place I want to be.” He peers over his shoulder, vacant steel-gray eyes boring into me. “Especially with you.”

“Then leave.” I hold his stare.

“Hollywood.” He stops searching and pivots to completely face me. “If I ask kindly, will you shut up?”

I tap my foot against the hardwood floor, easing the pressure of my fingernails against my palm. “Ask.”

“Do me a favor and keep your mouth closed.”

“I thought you were going to ask kindly?”

He sharply inhales. His broad shoulders and chest rise, and a muscle in his jaw ticks. “I did.”

“You ever heard of the wordplease?”

He gives me a once-over and turns his back to me. He resumes his search in silence, and once again leaves me feeling dumbfounded.

Why did Gabby and Polly become friends with him? They’re so sweet. Even Jagger is nice. Cocky, but nice, and then there’s him. He has the personality of a black hole sucking the life out of everything.

I stay rooted in my spot, watching him pull everything apart and put it back the way he found it. I let my eyes wander over him, trying to pin what El and half of the girls in my sorority find so appealing about him.

He’s tall, exactly six-foot-nine; at least, it’s what El told me. I don’t doubt that. I’ve been around tall people, but I’ve never been around anyone as tall as him. Sandy-beige skin, almost fully covered in intricate black ink. Mid-length, black, and thick, wavy hair with the kind of volume some girls would envy. A short, neatly-trimmed beard on his square jaw. And he’s got a thick and deep British accent that I’ve seen girls literally fawn over.

“Are you going to stand there and gawk, or are you going to help?” he asks as he puts the rug back in its place.

“I wasn’t gawking.”

“Eye-fucking me then.”

“Get over yourself.”

“Okay, Hollywood,” he mocks, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Would you stop calling me that? I have a name.”

He stiffly moves, placing the coffee table in the center of the rug. “I have a name, too.”

“Excuse me?” I take a step back as he approaches me.

“Spawn of Satan, piece of shit, arsehole, jerk, and so on. My name is Landon, but instead, you call me everything but that.”

I take another step back, to add some distance between us, but my back hits the wall. To meet his eyes, I have to tip my head back because he’s towering over me. God, he’s so tall.

“You want me to say your name when you’ve never said mine. So, don’t give me that offended bullshit. You’re no better than me, yet you pretend to be.”

I want to tell him to shove his assumptions up his ass, but I don’t.

“If you found what you’re looking for, you know where the door is.”

His eyes drop down to my chest for a split second before they meet mine again. “I haven’t and won’t be leaving until I do. The sooner I find them, the sooner I’m gone.”

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he’s right. I hadn’t considered that. “What are you looking for?”

“My earbuds.”

“What color are they?”

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