Page 43 of Even Robots Die
I take a step back and my calves hit my chair. I almost fall in the process and Brice catches me by the hips at the last minute. I feel the warmth of his hands burn through my clothes.
“Are you going to be able to walk to your room?” Brice asks me.
“Why?” I ask before I remember that he asked me to eat dinner with him before going to bed. I shake my head. “I’ll be okay.”
I realize my mistake right after my words have slipped out of my mouth. I have no clue if I can actually walk right now. My legs are feeling sleepy, as if they were made of cotton and I’m only now starting to feel them again.
“Are you sure?” he asks, and I take a step before nodding. “Don’t make me carry you, Miss Furious. You won’t like it.”
Brice leaves the room right after those words and I’m left in the middle of the lab wondering what the fuck happened again.
I guess I need to go back to my room—I sniff my shirt—take a shower and change my clothes.
I can do it.
It's just dinner and then I get to forget the world and sleep for a few hours.
I can do it.
26
Brice
Have dinner with me.
I don’t know what is wrong with me. I told myself I would stay away from Florentine. I did. And for the most part, I respected what I said. At least I didn't get into the vicinity of her person in my human form for two days.
I must be weak, because two days is all I could muster before I started to get antsy seeing how she had so much disrespect for her own person.
I might have exaggerated when I told her she looked like hell, but it’s not far from the truth, either.
She looks like she hasn’t slept in days. And that’s actually what happened. If I don’t count the three hours and twenty-six minutes she slept on the night I brought her her first snack, it’s been three days since she’s had a proper night’s sleep.
And maybe I should have sent her to bed directly, but she’s only been feeding herself with the snacks I got her delivered at regular intervals.
She’s currently basically made of caffeine and sugar.
So, I didn’t think it would be good to send her to bed like this.
It’s the only reason I’ve booked a table in a restaurant.
Keep lying to yourself,the little devil on my shoulder whispers to me.Dare to tell me that you didn’t enjoy the sight when she got mad earlier, and that you’re hoping for more.
The asshole.
Except I can only tell that to myself. Because I very well know that the devil that whispers things into my ear is just a figment of my imagination.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Just a few days ago, I wanted nothing to do with the woman and now I’m inviting her on something that looks like a date.
Not that this is a date.
At best, it’s a work meal.
Not a date. Definitely not a date.
Why did that thought cross my mind?
