Page 112 of Coco and the Misfits

“No.” I shake my head. “No, I can’t.”

His mouth flattens. “Please, Candy girl.”

“No.” I put a hand on my hip, my other arm curled around the remaining bag. “Why. Are. You. Here.”

He offers me a chocolate bar, which I ignore. “To talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

He sighs. Tosses the chocolate bar and catches it, adding it to the pile of things he’s holding. “I’m here to apologize. At least hear me out? Please?”

I stare at him. His sharp gaze is fixed on me, his angular face and square jaw tight with tension, but his mouth… it looks uncertain. Soft.

It distracts me enough to nod. “Fine. I’ll hear you out. And then you go.”

“Hear me out and then we do whatever you wish,” he says. “I promise, Coco. Say the word and I’ll stay out of your way from now on.”

That’s what I want.

I repeat that to myself as we go up the stairs together, side by side, his scent wrapping around me, tightening like a rope. I want him gone, I don’t want to sit beside him, I don’t want to hear his excuses.

I don’t want to change my mind. I’m sad, scared, and easy to manipulate.

But I’ve never been known for my good decisions. I’ve always lived life to the full and taken my chances. Now I’m unsure.

About everything.

About myself.

I never thought an attempted kidnapping would shake my faith in myself, my confidence, and my trust in my choices. It had nothing to do with any of that, and yet it made me question it all, from the decision to live alone, to trusting my heart, to believing I’m an omega.

My greatest fear, growing by the day, is what if I’m wrong?

Ryder Kassidy, inked badass alpha, tattoo artist and the asshole who fucked me and then sent me away is here.

He’s in my apartment.

Should this feel like some sort of triumph? Because it doesn’t. I feel… defeated. It’s a slump, a low.

We enter, I close the door behind us and unceremoniously dump my remaining bag on the kitchen table.

Taking a breath, I turn around and gaze from under my lashes at the huge alpha looming inside my tiny apartment. After a moment, he steps into my kitchen and unloads my shopping from his muscular arms onto my small table.

“Do you…?” I wipe my suddenly damp palms down my thighs. “Do you want some water or…?”

“I’m fine. Can we sit?”

Maybe. At least it will place us at the same height.

It’s not that he intimidates me. He doesn’t. I’m not scared of him physically. I’m still attracted to him, his strong physique, the tattoos, the lip ring, the intense gaze, the stubbled jaw. Very attracted.

And that’s what scares me.

What can I do? I’m weak when it comes to these guys.

It’s like a déjà vu, sitting on the sofa with Ryder. Not a pleasant one, as the only time he was here before was the day of the kidnapping. I don’t want to associate his face with that fear and panic, so I clench my hands and dig my nails into my palms to ground myself.

He lets his hands hang between his knees. “I meant it, you know.”

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