Page 59 of Burning Daylight
He grins, but there’s an edge to his expression that wasn’t there yesterday. Tension in his shoulders. A question simmering in his gaze.
“I’m glad you came to see me,” he says.
“Little full of yourself, Trouble. How do you know I’m not here all the time?”
He leans in, a lock of his hair falling across his brow. “Not likely.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve been coming here for years. If you had been around, I’d have noticed.”
“Maybe you just didn’t see me.”
He takes a slow sip of his coffee without looking away. “Impossible.”
“Is it?”
“There’s no world that exists where I wouldn’t see you.”
Butterflies explode through my stomach and warning bells ring in my ears.
One arm is draped across the back of his chair; his legs are sprawled in front of him like he owns the floor. He seems relaxed, but there’s something off about him today. Not that I’m going to ask him about it. That would involvefeelings, and in my world, we pretend those don’t exist.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible flirt?” I ask.
“Only the ones who end up liking me anyway.”
“I think everyone probably likes you,” I grumble.
He leans in slightly. “Well, I only care ifyoudo.”
Our eyes lock and my stomach flips.
“So why did you show up here again?” He reverts into that casual, leaned back pose. “And no lies this time.”
I toy with the edge of my sleeve. “Because I wanted to see you again before I left.”
He purses his lips. “I wanted to see you, too, so I’m glad you gave into that obsessive little habit of finding me wherever I go.”
“You’re not hard to find, Trouble. All I have to do is follow the stench of your ego.”
He chuckles.
“Why did you want to seeme?” I ask.
His gaze sweeps over me. “Purely artistic reasons, of course.”
I swallow another mouthful of coffee to hide the effect he’s having on me. “You didn’t finish that sketch already?”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” He shrugs. “I have something for you, actually.”
I quirk a brow. “What are the odds?”
He gives me a half smile and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper.
When he hands it over, our fingers brush. It’s a light touch. Barely there, really, but it feels like a spark scorching up my arm and down the length of my spine.
I try not to show it.
