Page 106 of His To Erase
He watches me like he’s deciding which version of me he prefers. Then, without breaking eye contact, he picks up his glass, swirls the wine once, and says, “It’s a reintroduction.”
“To what?”
He lifts his eyes to mine. “To the life that’s waiting for you.”
I stare at him. I don’t know what that means, but I already don’t like the way it sounds. This is not going at all the way I anticipated. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but this is what we do. He acts like we’re dating, I keep telling him we aren’t, and he never listens.
I tilt my head. “Is that the life you picked out for me, or do I get to participate in the decision-making?”
His mouth curves slowly. “Boundaries,” he says, swirling the wine in his glass, “can be… flexible.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t blink.
“And what makes you think I’d ever bend them for you?”
Frank sets his glass down with a soft clink and leans in again with his elbows on the table now.
“You will,” he says. “Because eventually, you’ll stop pretending you don’t feel it too.”
My pulse skips.Uhh this is exactly why I don’t date. “Feel what, exactly?” I ask, lifting my brows. “The overwhelming need to delete your number and block you?”
He laughs, like I’m being adorable again. “No,” he says. “That pull between us. The inevitability of it.”
I roll my eyes. “Wow. You should write fortune cookies. Real poetic shit, Frank.”
His smile widens, but this time there’s something else behind it. He doesn’t blink when he says, “I’m not poetic, Doll. I’m persistent.”
The table suddenly feels too small.
“I’m not interested in being worn down,” I mutter, pushing my wine glass away.
His gaze sharpens. “Who said anything about wearing you down?” he replies. “I’m just waiting for you to come home.”
I freeze.
Home?
My stomach twists, and my ribs throb in time with a memory I can’t quite reach, and something in the back of my mind claws at the door like it’s trying to get out.
I mask it with a smirk. “Look, Frank… you don’t know?—.”
“I know enough.” He cuts me off. A second later, his charm returns like a curtain dropping over a gun.
“That mouth of yours could get you in trouble someday.”
The words settle over me like smoke, making it hard to breathe through. They’re soft and smooth, but for some reason, every part of me recoils like he just pressed a knife to my throat and smiled. It’s not the words themselves, but it’s the way they land.
I know enough?
I shake it off and laugh. Because that’s safer than asking what the hell he meant. I don’t want him getting any more ideas.
“Frank,” I say, draining the rest of my wine. “If you don’t like what comes out of my mouth, you’re more than welcome to stop asking me out.”
He smirks. “Oh, I like it.”
He leans in, putting his hand on my thigh. “Doesn’t mean I won’t punish it.”
My stomach drops in that same nauseating way it does when you realize the ground beneath you isn’t as solid as you thought. I need air.
