Page 45 of Undeniably Corrupt
“Okay.”
He slides further into me until we’re nearly breathing the same air. “Okay.” His hand clasps mine over my wrist, where it was touching my bracelet. “Am I making you nervous?”
“A little,” I admit and shake my head as I peer up at him. “I don’t even know why.”
He drags his thumb along the inside of my wrist under the delicate chain of my bracelet, and a shiver runs up my arm, raising the hairs on my skin. “You should get this tattooed on you.” His thumb swirls around the sensitive skin. “Right here on your wrist.”
That draws me back. “Tattooed?”
“Cass had his half heart on a black leather band. He was buried with it, right?”
I swallow and nod, my throat feeling tight as I think about Cass’s bracelet. My mom bought us the diamond hearts when I turned sixteen and Cass turned eighteen, since our birthdays are only a day apart. Two halves that always came together to be a whole. She did it two weeks after my father had roughed her up so badly she couldn’t get out of bed for three days. Cass was furious and hit him over it. I was terrified with how they fought that night, but shockingly, my father backed down.
My mother got us the charms to remind us that despite everything, we still and always had each other. Then, seven months later, Cass was dead.
I stare down at the bracelet where his fingers are playing. “A tattoo? You think?”
“It would be easy. Even I could do it.”
For some reason that makes me smile, and I look back up at him. “You want to tattoo me?”
He’s smiling too. “Actually, I do.”
“How could I trust that you wouldn’t stencil your name on me instead of this half heart?”
“Who said I wouldn’t?”
I laugh and start singing Mariah Carey’s “Obsessed” completely off-key since I can’t sing to save my life. Good thing Hazel doesn’t mind yet.
“Obsessed or not, I could still do it.”
“Thanks, but I think if I have anyone ink my skin, it’ll be your dad since he’s the professional. He’s pretty hot too.”
He chokes and rolls his eyes. I used to tease Vander about how hot his father is. That he’s a DILF. Irony at its best since Vander looks so much like him.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“Hungry?”
“We really need to stop this repeating stuff. Yes, hungry. Have you had breakfast yet?”
“Breakfast?”
He groans, and I laugh, nudging him with my arm, only to realize he’s still holding my wrist and we’re insanely close, practically chest to chest.
“No. I haven’t eaten yet.”
“Give me two minutes, and we’ll go get something.” He releases me and takes a seat in one of the chairs at the table so he can put on his socks and shoes. It feels weird watching Vander do something so basic and human since he’s the least basic and human guy I know.
“I can grab you something. I believe that’s part of my responsibilities. Then we won’t have to eat together.”
“Nice try, Angel.” He stands and grabs his coat, then drapesit over my shoulders. “I’m hungry, and I’m sure you are too. It’s not a date.”
“A date?” I cackle since I did it again with the repeating stuff. “Who on earth would ever suggest a date? We don’t even like each other.”
“Consider it a work meeting.”
“I should grab my things then. At the very least, my purse.”
