Page 42 of Butterfly Effect

She doesn’t glance my way. “Kurt has—had the same one.”

Fucking Vaughn.

I switch to the left lane.

“This isn’t the way to my place.”

“You’re right. It’s the way to mine.”

Sudden apprehension strikes like lightning, jolting through me until every nerve crackles, jump-starting my heartbeat and driving it into a rapid cadence.

Gabe Finch is coming over. To my penthouse. Not hotel rooms. Myhome.

Her arms fold as one set of fingers pinch her nose. “And why are we going there?”

My eyes flick to the rearview mirror. “For one, I’m pretty sure we’re being followed.”

“Really? Shit.” Gabe turns to check. “Isn’t that what the powers-that-be want? Pictures as evidence?”

“I think they’d rather have us; what did Elliot call it the other day? Controlling the narrative. And also…”

When she turns back, she’s met with my nervous smile.

“What?”

I bare my teeth, bracing myself for her wrath. “Imayhave told Skylar that you stay over.”

Her eyelashes pat together. Blink, blink, blink, blink. “And why would you do that?”

“She asked how serious we were.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Boehner, but you give me the biggest headaches.” Circle after circle is massaged intoher forehead and temples with those slender fingers until she resigns into silence.

Two lights later, we reach my building. The parkade door lifts, and I ease through it. Palpable tension builds as we speed up each subsequent ramp to the top floor before rolling into my spot.

No protest from Freckles when I offer my hand to help her out of the car. No protest when I push my fingers between hers either. She pads behind me down the hallway. My thumb finds the pulse point on her wrist. It’s thrumming as fast as mine.

“Where am I gonna sleep?” she asks.

What’s this? The infallible Gabe Finch, defeated? There’s no satisfaction in the transient victory. I hate the sadness filling her eyes.

I know how to make her mad. I know how to make her come. But I have no idea what would make her smile or laugh. Guess I’ll stick to what I know will make that somber expression go away.

“My bed’s pretty nice. My arms are also available.”

The lock clacks open as I push the key code buttons.

She groans and grimaces, but our hands are still entwined. “It’s like youwantto die.”

There she is.

The door shuts, and my restraint snaps. I back her into the wall, hovering so our lips are only a few centimeters apart.

“At your hands? Maybe.” My palm sprawls across her stomach and one arch of her hips, pinning her in place.

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Doyou?”

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