Page 21 of The Shadows We Keep

He flips open the pizza box, settling into the squeaking seat in front of me, a look of expectance and question in his eyes. My cheeks grow warm under his bold exploration, my body coming to life from the attention I’ve craved for so many years in the safety of my mind. In the darkness of my bedroom, at night, with my hand, the only thing making the fantasy playing through my head come true.

“What?” My voice comes out shy, which is new for me.

“You look like someone I used to know.”

My blood runs cold at his statement. I pick at the dried skin along my cuticles under the table, as nervous energy dances an Irish jig in my gut.

“Oh?” I squeak, not knowing what else to say.

It’s not like I can be like,oh you mean your ex-girlfriend. AKA my sister. My twin.

But he doesn’t expand, and I don’t pry further. I don’t think I could take him talking about her, especially today.

“Do you live around here?” I play stupid. I don’t want him to pack up and leave or stop the timber of his voice from filling my ears. Building the first genuine connection we’ve ever had.

“Across the street.” He smirks, thumb pointing out the window to the black stone building across the way. The neighborhood is splitting down the middle. Half still belong to the old neighborhood—the families that emigrated from their homelands to start a new life, bringing with them a mixing pot of cultural diversity. While the other looks like his renovated building across the street, updated to attract a millennial generation—with their love for overpriced iced coffee and microbrewery IPAs. They’ve flocked to Brooklyn, and it’s slowly changing the charming divergence that once was.

I chuckle at him. “How’s your fancy new loft?”

He cringes at my jab and drops the pizza he’s been devouring back into the box.

“It was a necessary sacrifice; I promise you that.” He pauses, the silence between us thickening until he can’t take it any longer and breaks. “So, Keira, what do you do when you’re not working at the airport? Do you like to dance?”

I stiffen in surprise, not sure if I should show my hand or play it close to the vest. “If the vibe is right.” I give him a small smile.

His continued questions don’t dig deeper than the surface. But mine want to. I want to ask him how he’s doing today. If he’s thinking about her. About their accident. I want to know what he does all day, shut in his loft. I have a million and one questions I’ve always wanted to know the answers to, but could never ask.

“I’m closing up, kids,” Sal’s deep voice calls from the back, shocking me from the trance I’ve been in since Harkin sat down.

“I’m gonna go,” I stammer out, snatching up my bag, quickly sliding out of the booth. My feet don’t make it far before a jolt of heat shoots up my arm from his hand wrapped around my wrist. I stare down. His tan fingers, covered in black ink, contrast perfectly against my pasty wrist.

An image of that same hand wrapped around my throat flashes through my mind. A blush creeps into my cheeks. Shaking the image free, I peer up at him through my lashes. A small smirk sits on his face.

“You were just going to run off?” His thumb soothes over my sensitive flesh, back and forth. It should be comforting, but my body doesn’t get the message. I’m on pins and needles, dying to flee, but desperate for a minute more of his time.

“N… No… No I just needed to get going,” I finally spit out, biting my bottom lip.

Jesus, get a hold of yourself, girl.

His free hand reaches up, thumb pulling my lip free, but it doesn’t leave my face. My body’s burning, core tightening, the tingle between my legs making me want to squirm to relieve the building pressure. I can’t help it; my thighs shift anyway, drawing his gaze to the apex of my thighs that rubbed together.

His pupils darken and his breathing shallows.

“If you run, I’ll have to follow,” he says, his crooked grin showing a playfulness that doesn’t reach his eyes. Any other girl would take that as a threat, but I’m hoping it’s a promise. Strong footsteps come up behind us and I unwillingly pull from his touch.

“Let me walk you up?” he asks.

I bite my lip again, the pinch of pain centering me to this moment.

“She’ll be fine, kid. I’ll make sure of it,” Sal says over my shoulder.

Harkin’s jaw stiffens, his dark gaze shifting from my face to Sal. “I think she can speak for herself.” His tone is forceful, leaving no room for sarcasm.

The air thickens with toxic masculinity, chests puff, heights lengthen.

For fuck’s sake.

“You know what, boys? I think I’ll walk myself.” I turn on my heels and head straight for the side door that leads into the stairwell for my apartment.

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