Page 57 of No Mistakes
He glances at me, lips twitching. “You’re watching a man get his head torn off while eating salt and vinegar chips. Are you okay?”
“I was, untilyoushowed up.”
He laughs, nodding his head. “There she is.”
I sit back on the bed, tucking my legs under me. He leans against the dresser, hands in his pockets, shifting like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“You gonna sit or just stand there brooding all night?”
“Brooding’s kinda my thing.”
I roll my eyes, “Not a turn-on, just so you know.”
His eyes darken as he steps closer, dropping onto the edge of the bed.
“Why are youreallyhere, Axel?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
I scoff, not believing a word.
“No, I mean it.” He turns towards me, his tone losing that usual arrogance. “After the gas station… after that moment in the bathroom. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. The way you looked at me… like you still felt it.”
My body betrays me, and I wrap my arms closer, hiding the goosebumps that appear along my arms.
“You think you can show up and use that voice, those arms, and that whole tortured bad boy act, and I’ll fall apart?”
He leans back, smirking, propping himself up with an elbow. “Is it working?”
I throw a chip at him. “Asshole.”
He catches it in his mouth, winking at me, and butterflies flow up inside of me instantly. I stand abruptly, walking around the bed, needing to get away. “I need some air.”
“Good. I’m coming with you.”
I spin, facing him. “Likehellyou are.”
He’s already up, grabbing my jacket, throwing it in my direction, before opening the door. “After you, Buttercup.”
We walk in silence, and I can’t help but admire the stars against the clear sky. The motel sits on the edge of nowhere, surrounded by trees, broken pavement, and distant street lights that flicker like they’re on their dying breath.
Everything smells like pine needles and old rain, and despite the silence, there’s nothing peaceful about it. The tension between us builds with every step, pressing in closer, tighter.
“Do you remember how happy you looked when you saw the car for the Providence job? Your smile was priceless,” he says suddenly, voice low, teasing.
I glance sideways at him. “Wait… you were there?”
His grin breaks across his face like lightning. “Yeah. Who do you think secured the car for you?”
“Fucking creep,” I mutter, but I’m not surprised. He was always there, watching from the shadows like some broody, overprotective phantom. Whether I knew it or not.
He shrugs, “You grinned like a maniac. I nearly blew my cover trying not to laugh.”
That makes me snort, “You never cared about cover.”
We keep walking. His hand brushes near mine on multiple occasions, close enough that I feel the heat of it, but not close enough to touch and for some reason, Iyearnfor the contact.
“Carter turned the car into a concert,” I say, like I’m offering him a piece of the day. “He made up lyrics for every road sign.”
