Page 61 of Don't Make Me Beg
He must find my response amusing because he clicks his tongue and takes a step closer. It’s as if his body sucks up all the oxygen in the room, and I instinctively hold my breath, as if waiting for him to give me permission to breathe.
Luka’s gaze holds mine, and I wonder if he realizes that the Phantom’s eyes are the exact same shade of green as his. That it’s his stern expression the Phantom is making. Or that I spent two days staring at the blank canvas, feeling completely lost at what direction to go, until I realized that Luka was my blueprint to nailing the Phantom’s complexity.
They share the same essence, equal parts good and evil, darkness and light. Neither are just one thing, but a mixture of paradoxes that most will never understand and even fewer will be close enough to feel firsthand.
Once I made the connection, I couldn’t see the Phantom any other way. It was as if my hands moved of their own accord, and I surrendered to a mind greater than my own. Much like the blissful absence of worrying thoughts Luka induced in me the other night, I barely slept, barely remembered to eat, not stopping until my muse felt satisfied.
It’s only when I feel Luka’s thumb brush over my arm that I finally suck in a breath.
“It’s perfect. You did incredible.” There’s a spark in his green eyes as he watches me, and for a second, I wonder if he can actually read my thoughts—because he always seems to know just what to say.
My shoulders sag in relief, and I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face knowing he’s happy with the design. That’s one of the benefits of having such a blunt friend. I know if he says something, he means it. Luka has proved more than once that he isn’t worried about hurting my feelings, which makes this moment feel that much sweeter.
I’m lost in a trance, staring at his mouth when he says, “Get dressed and meet me outside in ten minutes. We’ve got some errands to run.“
I’m relieved when Luka takes the long way into town, not that I’d really expect anything different. I’ve grown to understand him so much deeper over these last few weeks, recognizing more and more what drives him.
While everyone else is rushing through life, trying to skip the dull parts, Luka makes a point to savor each and every moment. It’s like he’s always looking for a way to upgrade his experiences and make them something to look forward to. Thus, a boring commute into town turns into a joy ride through the mountains, the feeling of complete and utter freedom, making you feel like anything’s possible.
I never understood the appeal before, but now that I’ve experienced it firsthand, I can see how addictive the feeling is. No wonder he always opts for the bike every chance he gets.
It’s romantic, really—the way he’s so determined to squeeze the most out of life. His fearless approach to living, paired with his unapologetic honesty, has me questioning things I never thought I would. For the first time in my life, I’m actually considering what I want before I think of everyone else.
I can’t say that I’m not nervous riding as his backpack, but I trust him to keep me safe. And let’s be honest—wrapping my arms around that ridiculously firm chest isn’t exactly a burden. I might evenlook forwardto the excuse to get my hands on him.
As if on cue, Luka’s hand moves over my thigh in a comforting caress, massaging and squeezing as we roll to a stop at the red light. I know it’s not anything more than platonic,but there’s certainly nothing platonic about the way my body responds.
I blow out a long exhale through my nose as I try to drag my mind out of the gutter, desperately hoping Luka can’t feel the involuntary clenching my lady bits have taken to in protest.
I hate how easily my body responds to him. It makes me feel pathetic, like I’m the only one caught in this mess while he just drifts through it, completely unbothered.
Meanwhile, I’m in my head twenty-four-seven, dissecting every look, every word, trying to figure out what the hell is going on in his.
He clearly notices the effect he has on me; it’s obviously why he keeps doing what he’s doing. But have I really been reading him wrong? Is this just the way he is with everyone?
God, how stupid am I to think there was more going on between us?
Either I’ve misread him completely, or this is just some game to him. A game I keep losing.
But not anymore.
I’m done letting him string me along. Done falling for every half-smile and heated glance.
He’s not going to keep me drooling like a naive idiot.
Luka’s hand slips from my thigh, and I hate the disappointment I feel from the loss of it.
“Here we are,” he says, parking the bike at the curb.
I glance up at the sign, then back at him, brows raised as he secures my helmet to the back of the bike. “What are we doing at Hardware Store?”
“I thought we’d get a jump on ordering supplies for the mural,” he says casually. “I don’t know much about the process—just what I skimmed from a quick online search, but I figured you’d need paint, maybe some tarps, buckets, brushes. That kind of stuff.”
“Right. Supplies.” I nod, pressing my lips together as I cross my arms over my chest.
A flicker of disappointment rises, quickly followed by the flush of embarrassment. Of course this is why we’re here.
What did I honestly think we were doing today?
