Page 122 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

We’ve worked together well…but that’s it. We’ve worked.

Via email.

That’s not to say we haven’t talked, in fact, we talk every day via text. His excuse? He’s been busy with his father on some big project.

“The biggest of his life,” is what he said.

So have I seen Storm outside of class? No. But we still communicate, and sometimes it’s random messages first thing in the morning like:

Did you know the oldest library in the world that is still in operation is in Morocco? It was founded in 859 AD. It’s one of the seven wonders of the world, but it’s not nearly as wonderful as you are.

I smiled for a while after receiving that one, even though it’s as cheesy as they come.

Other times it’s things like:

You have no idea how much I miss your lips on mine. I miss seeing you smile, Sweetness.

But then, that’s where the forthcoming complex comes in. Because every time I offer to go to him, he says no.

There’s always a very reasonable excuse, but still…he says no.

Except today.

I think I hate myself a little for the fact I practically jumped out of my bed and sprinted to his apartment when he offered for us to work on our finals at his place.

So that brings us to now: Me sitting on his sofa, him on the floor near my feet, both of us with laptops open and neither of us paying attention to our screens.

But I’m focused on him, and he’s far off in his own world.

God, I want him. Even when I’m mad, even when I want to hit him...damnit, I still want him.

“Are you…okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low.

Storm, who hasn’t scrolled down the report he’s been reading for the last thirty minutes, looks up to me, blinking fast before he seems to focus on my face.

He leans back against the couch, his shoulder brushing my leggings-covered calf.

“Yeah. Yes, sorry. Did you need something?”

Yeah. I need you to pay some attention to me. Wait. No, I don’tneedhim to pay attention to me. I want him to—oh, hell.

He releases a small grunt and closes his eyes when his head lands on the seat cushion.

“I’m sorry, Shae,” he grinds out. He doesn’t open his eyes for a long moment after he speaks, but when he does, I almost gasp at the pain in his gaze.

He looks…lost?

“Storm,” I ask, my tone gentling. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He stares at me for a long moment before saying, “I just have a lot on my mind.”

We fall into silence, a quiet that’s neither comfortable nor uncomfortable.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I reply, holding his gaze. He frowns and straightens, moving the pages on the coffee table to the side to place his laptop on the glass.

“No,” he says, and adds nothing more.

Well. Okay then.

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