Page 49 of Promise Me Nothing
And now she’s here. In my face. Making friends withmysister. I had to deal with Ivy’s incessant pestering yesterday. All Sunday long, she kept asking about Hannah, how I knew her, whether I could call Lucas and see if Hannah wanted to hang out.
Like they could ever be friends.
I force myself to roll out of bed and stumble in the direction of the shower, hoping to find the pick-me-up I need to wake my ass from its severely hung over state.
I don’t need to be thinking about how fucking hot Hannah Morrison is. About her wavy blonde hair or how green her eyes were when she looked at me. How red her face flushed when she got embarrassed.
I crank on the shower, chuck off my clothes, and step under the spray before it’s even gotten warm, letting the frigid water drench my body and wake me up in my bones.
It heats quickly, and I spin to let it pound against my back, bracing my hands against the shower wall.
This is my favorite shower in the whole property, and one of the reasons I enjoy staying in the guesthouse instead of the main. I smirk, thinking about the fun I’ve had in this shower. The privacy is definitely appreciated.
I stand in silence for a few minutes, trying to force my mind to turn off. The roving thoughts that seem to keep me up at night and stressed and on edge all day don’t seem to want to go away, though. So eventually, without even washing, I just turn the water off and step out.
I’m drying off when I hear a knock on my door. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I head out to the entry, curious about who would be knocking on my door this early on a Monday. Everyone I know is either asleep, hungover, or already at work for the day.
To say I’m surprised when I see Lucas standing on the other side of the door when I open it is an understatement.
Surprised and irate.
He gives me a smile that oozes with arrogance, that self-satisfied look that he so often has that always seems to crawl under my skin.
“You have a lot of fucking nerve coming by here,” I bite out, spinning around and heading back to my room, but leaving the front door open.
I slam my bedroom door, though it doesn’t actually make me feel any better. Glancing around, I grab my duffle bag and dig around, grabbing a pair of boxers. Then I step over to the closet.
I had a company send down a bunch of my stuff, including most of my clothes, before I got here. It’s a mix of things I want for while I’m here, as well as the things I’ll be taking with me when I leave for London at the end of the summer.
The good thing about hiring someone else to handle it is that I don’t have to deal with everything myself. The shitty part is that it means I never know where anything is for the first few days as I sort through things that have been tucked into the dresser, hung in the closet, or organized onto shelves and around the house.
Once I’ve picked out some jeans, a dark blue shirt and gotten changed, I take a deep breath, letting the air out slowly, and then emerge from my bedroom.
Lucas stands in my kitchen, his back to me as he mixes himself a drink.
“A little early for that, don’t you think?” I say.
He glances over his shoulder to look at me, scoffing. “Coming from you, I can’t take that seriously.”
I cross my arms. “What are you doing here, Lucas? I can’t imagine we have anything to talk about.”
He stays quiet, taking a sip of his drink, assessing me from over the top of the glass.
The rage I’ve been feeling since I saw him at the club with Hannah begins to boil under my skin.
When he continues to stand there, silent, an almost amused expression on his face and sipping from that damn glass, I finally spit something out.
“Lucas, I’m not kidding.”
He sets his drink down on the counter. “I’m not here for any specific reason other than to try and convince you to give this a chance.”
I clench my fists. “Givewhata chance?”
He shrugs. “Everything.”
I don’t know what to say in response, so I stay silent, waiting for him to continue. Lucas always has something else to say. But another minute goes by and he doesn’t add anything, so I say what I’ve been dying to get off my chest since the minute I realized it last night.
“You like her,” I say, remembering the easy way they’d interacted, the loving way he’d looked at her.
