Page 31 of Never Your Girl

I can’t help but glance around her room with more interest. It’s nothing like I expected. There’s a worn leather armchair in one corner, stacks of books and notebooks piled high on the floor. A sketchpad tossed carelessly onto the chair catches my eye, the pages slightly bent and smudged.

Without thinking, I gravitate in that direction before reaching down and picking it up. Intricate sketches of landscapes, portraits, and half-finished scenes fill the pages, each line careful and precise.

They’re good.

Actually, they’re better than that.

There’s a rawness to them, an intensity that pulls me in and captures my attention.

“You draw?” I glance up.

“No,” she snaps, grabbing the sketchpad from my hands and shoving it into her bag as color floods her cheeks.

I pop a brow. “Clearly, you do. I didn’t realize you had a hidden artistic side.”

She looks away, shoving another shirt in her bag. “Shocker that you’re not exactly perceptive.”

There’s a bite to her words.

I hate to admit that she might be right.

Holland’s always been a mystery to me, a combination of sharp edges and soft curves that never quite added up. She’s too much, too real in a way that makes me uncomfortable.

I settle in the chair and watch her. “Is it some big secret?”

Her hands still for a second but she doesn’t look up. “Not a secret at all. The people who matter in my life know about it.”

Ouch.

“Did you ever consider me one of them?” The question is out before I can stop it.

Her gaze is hard when it slices to mine. “After all this time, why does it even matter?” Before I can tell her that it doesn’t, she adds, “Let’s get something clear. We’re not friends. You’re blackmailing me because you think I’m out to ruin your life. At some point, you’ll realize it’s not me. And then won’t you feel like an asshole?”

Her words hit harder than I expect, and something that feels very much like regret unfurls inside me. I’m caught between wanting to pull her closer and wanting to protect myself from what she’s capable of.

“This could be over with before it even starts if you’d just come clean.” My voice is quieter than I intend. “Just admit you’ve been fucking with me, and I’ll let it all go. I won’t even press charges. I just need it to end.”

She lets out a humorless laugh before zipping up her bag and throwing it over her shoulder. Sadness flashes in her eyes before it’s quickly masked. “I’m not going to admit to something I haven’t done.”

With that, she pushes past me into the hallway without another word. I follow, still trying to piece together what’s real and what’s just a façade.

When it comes to Holland, I’m not sure I’ll ever know.

As soon as the townhouse is locked up, she beelines to her vehicle, stubbornness and tension etched across her expression. “I’ll follow you back to your place.”

“Actually,” I say, holding her gaze, “you’ll ride with me.”

With a roll of her eyes, a puff of air bursts from her. “So now I can’t even drive my own car? What if I need it? How am I going to get to work?”

I glance at her death trap of a vehicle. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was held together with paperclips and bubblegum. “I’ll drive you.”

“Awesome. Now I have my own personal chauffeur. Things just keep getting better and better.”

A grin twitches around the corners of my lips. “Aren’t you lucky?”

Her glare hardens. “Luckiest girl in the world.”

I pop open the passenger door of my BMW and extend my arm. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”

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