Page 147 of The Invite
“Fine,” I sigh.
“Good girl.”
I shiver and avert my gaze. Suddenly starving like crazy, I pick up my plate and dig in without waiting for him. I bite back the moan at the scrumptious taste.
God! It’s perfect.
While continuing to eat, I search the cushion and the table.
“What are you looking for?”
Augustus’s curious voice startles me and I lock my eyes with his. Shit. I forget for a second he’s here. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for my answer.
“The remote.” My voice comes out scratchy. “I like to watch TV while eating.”
Nodding, he abandons his plate and rises. Walking across the room, he picks up the remote from the mantle and switches on the television.
Huh. I didn’t know I put it there.
“What channel?”
“Any movie is fine.” Usually, I’d fuss with different channels until something caught my eye, which usually takes several minutes because I’m very picky. I don’t tell Augustus that, though.
He fiddles through the channels and I make him pause at one of my favorite movies playing on the screen.
“Seriously?” he asks, looking over his shoulder with a shocked expression. “The Godfather?”
“Al Pacino is a legend.”
A tiny smile curves his mouth as he returns to the couch. But instead of sitting at the opposite end, he settles right next to me. Our thighs brush, making my toes curl.
He taps my knee. “Eat, Nessa.”
It takes me a beat to relax and enjoy the dish. But my mind is elsewhere. Not even my favorite movie is distracting me from Augustus’s presence. Turbulent thoughts chant in my brain on a loop.
He’s my student.
My stalker who breaks into my house every night. Who uploads our intimate videos for his fans, which I’m yet to confront him about.
And here I am having a casual lunch with him, which he cooked.
Have I gone certifiably insane? Is his crazy rubbing off on me?
A clanking of utensils against a plate jars me and I look to my right at Augustus, finding his gaze riveted to me.
My heart thumps faster.
Taking my plate from my hand, which no surprise is also finished, he places it on the table. His large hands span my waist, picking me up like a doll and straddling his lap with my knees resting on either side.
“Best we talk before your pretty little brain explodes from overthinking.”
Damn. Was I thinking that loud? Ignoring how comfortable his hard muscles feel beneath my ass and the urge to grind, I blurt out the first question plaguing me the most. “Why did you come in the morning before I… you know?”
“I told you,” he murmurs, tightening his grip around my waist. “I didn’t like how I left last night.”
His admission doesn’t ease my anxiety now that I have my bearings without sadness and depression mudding my mind. It’s still alarming that he’s only expressing guilt about his behavior yesterday and not for the thousand other unhinged deeds he’s done before it.
In his case, the bad outweighs the good.
