Page 46 of Undeniably Corrupt
“You have me. You don’t need anything else.”
My heart jumps because once upon a time, I believed that.
His hand meets my lower back, and he walks us through the empty office to the elevator. I slip my arms into his coat since mine is in my office, dwarfed in its size but intoxicated by how it feels and smells. Vander is quiet. Not a new phenomenon, but it feels off. There’s an unspoken tension that’s different from before.
We let it lead us down the elevator and out onto the street before I stop him short. “Wait. I’m not going back to the café.” I smack his chest. “I still can’t believe you did that.”
He grabs my hand and holds it against his shirt. “I wasn’t going to take you to the café.”
“Oh. Good.”
“Breakfast burritos?”
I squint at him. “Now you’re not playing fair.”
He grins and drags his fingers across my cheek and through my hair, toying with the strands. “With you, I’m starting to think that’s the only way I’ll ever have the upper hand.”
“Probably. You’re very touchy this morning.” My eyes cast over to his fingers in my hair and my hand on his chest that he’s holding.
“You’re letting me be.” His green eyes look like spring leaves after rainfall. “Sometimes it’s difficult not to be that with you. It feels… natural. Almost like a muscle memory.”
“Yeah. Kind of how it used to be but not, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Are you okay?”
He tilts his head and studies me. “Why would you ask that?”
“I don’t know. You’re being more… reticent than you typically are, which is saying something. But are you?”
“I have a lot on my mind.”
We dodge two early morning joggers, his hand on my hip as he shifts me around them, and he leaves it there. More of that contact we can’t seem to stop having despite the angst between us. “Are you mad because of what happened in the garage?”
“No. That’s not it.”
“You can tell me.”
He flips on me, narrowing his eyes. “Can I?”
“Why are you asking me that way?” I stare up at him as we walk.
He puffs out a cold, bitter breath. “You hate me, right? Isn’t that what you’ve been saying? How can I trust you when you hate me?”
I look down toward the sidewalk and give him my truth. “It’s difficult for me to hate you, Vander. I want to. I think my self-preservation side demands it, but my heart remembers you fondly, and it’s a tough paradox.”
“Back at you.”
I look up at him and study his handsome profile. “So we’ll stay… adversarial? For our own good?”
“It seems we have no choice.”
I give him a little hip bump. “Good thing I like riling you up then.”
He shakes his head, sarcasm and maybe a little ire in his tone. “Are you ever not smiling and happy?”
I snort. “All the time, actually. About ninety percent of my life is spent not smiling or being happy. That ninety percent is spent on barely surviving. But it’s that ten percent that drives me and reminds me that there’s happiness to be had and thatmaybe if I hold onto it, it’ll bleed into that other ninety percent and take over.”
