Page 16 of Unwanted

This isn’t the time or the place, but apparently the connection between my brain and mouth has been severely compromised over the last forty-eight hours, because I’m acting like I have any right to request anything of him. Like I didn’t just spend four years away because I didn’t trust myself anywhere near him.

“What is it, Arlo? You can’t be alone with me?”

His body stiffens immediately, and I see a glimpse of the man I used to know come out to play. He turns his body and steps closer to me, no longer hiding himself from me, no longer trying to maintain distance between us.

“No,” he sneers. “It’s not that I can’t be alone with you. I just don’t want to be.”

His words should hurt, and for a split second they do, but they’re well deserved. To be expected even. Why would he wantanythingto do with me after I deserted him when he needed me most?

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I backtrack, trying to take the conversation back to civil. “I’m going to catch an Uber. Can you tell the rest of them I’ll be back soon?”

He threads his fingers through the front of his hair, scratching at his scalp when he’s blocked by his man bun. It’s obvious this whole exchange has given him whiplash, and I’m the only person to blame.

I am an emotional mess and my only priority is to get my head on straight before I face Lennox.

This. Whatever this is. With Arlo. It has to wait.

Not needing a response, I drag my cell out of my pocket, swipe till I find the app, and put in my location. A large hand covers the screen before I can click on the search button.

“I’ll take you,” Arlo says.

I slide the cell from under his hand. “I’ve got it.”

He grips the phone and plucks it out of my hand. My head snaps up in irritation. “What are you—”

The sentence dies on my tongue when my eyes catch his. They’re soft. Confused. Definitely full of hurt, but they’re still soft.

They’re soft forme.

My insides warm at the sight, nostalgic for it.

It was a rarity back then, and I sure as hell wasn’t expecting it now.

“I’ll take you,” he repeats, his voice gentle, matching his eyes.

Sighing, I tip my chin at my cell in his hand. “I’ll pull up the address and directions off my phone.”

He hands it back to me, and I find the address on my booking email and copy and paste it into the navigation app.

“It’s just up on the other side of Westwood,” I tell him, looking down at the directions. “It’s not too far, I really can find my own—”

“Frankie,” he says with a long sigh. “Can you just follow me to my car?”

Pursing my lips together, I force myself to remain quiet and nod before doing as he asked. I’m surprised to see that it’s still the same royal blue, beat-up Honda he had all those years ago.

“You still have this?” I blurt out.

“Yeah,” he says. “I, uh, have a Jeep, but the others always want to drive it and I don’t really care to argue as long as there’s a car in the driveway when I need to get somewhere.”

A twinge of jealousy hits me when he mentions the others, the reminder that they all live together, that life moved on without me.

What did you expect? It’s not like you didn’t start a whole new life in Seattle, for yourself, without them.

We both climb into the car in silence, and an onslaught of memories infiltrates my thoughts.

Getting high.

Back seat sex.

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