Page 157 of Branded
“How’d you get your car back?”
She froze then her head jerked up. “What?”
“Your car was at CeCe’s. Did Marcel or Pru get someone to bring it over?”
Teeth worrying her bottom lip, and I knew they hadn’t, and suddenly I was kicking myself even harder. I’d yelled at her, made her cry, bullied her into the ER, and then left her. Then I’d broken into her house and hadn’t even thought to bring her car so she’d have a way to get around.
“How?” I asked again, my fingers covering hers on the handle.
A shrug that was so casual it was almost disarming. Almost because I’d noticed other things about Beth besides the fact that she seemed destined to break through shields I was desperately trying to reinforce and hold in place.
Almost disarming because she was really good at getting people to look away from her.
Bright and pretty and perfectly put together.
But constantly shifting the attention from herself. Even when she was making everyone at the table laugh, usually it was at her own expense, and then, just as quickly, she was passing that attention over to someone else.
Camouflage.
But I saw her.
I couldn’t ignore her, even when I was desperate to.
“I took a Lyft.” Another casual shrug. “Picked up my car, planned to hit the outlets for some better clothes and save Pru the trouble of having to be my dressing room wingman.” Beth’s face gentled. “She offered, and I know Marcel would come with me if I asked, or Hazel, or Oliver. But”—her gaze dipped to the side, and she shrugged again—“it’s my thing, not theirs.”
I hated that I hadn’t thought of that, hated she’d had to deal with retrieving her car after the shitty night she’d had.
Hated…
No, was tired of fighting so hard.
So maybe I just…needed to stop fighting.
Clearly, Beth needed someone to look after her. And no one else was around. So that someone looking after her needed to be me.
Decision made—or maybe finally accepted, considering I’d been drifting toward this outcome for months now—I asked, “Those pants the loosest ones you have?”
Her eyes widened then I watched as a mask slipped onto her face, smirk curving those red-painted lips. Disarming. Trying to put me off.
I didn’t like that.
Liked it less when her tone went teasing, “What are you trying to say, Raph? That this girl is getting fat?”
I liked when she was soft with me, when she gave me a glimpse of her without any bullshit.
“Don’t.”
The way that burst out of me was visceral, and I couldn’t stop it and…
It made her mask slip, thank fuck.
“Don’t what?” she whispered.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” she asked softly.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, still going on gut. “And you fucking know it.”
