Page 121 of His To Erase
The secondI step out of the library, I see his car parked by the curb.
I cross the sidewalk slowly, one foot in front of the other with my bag slung over my shoulder. Every step drags, and I swear I can still feel the weight of that photo, burned into my brain like a brand.
He gets out before I even reach the passenger side, and waits by my door. All charm and polished—even I can admit he’s a good looking man. I’m just not sure if I feel anything else.
“Hey, Doll.”
He opens the door, and I slide in without a word. The leather seats are already warm and it smells like wealth and cologne.
“Rough day?”
I let out a short, brittle laugh. “Something like that.”
It’s always something like that, because if I say the truth out loud—what then? Someone slipped into my apartment, and left a note. Only the note was blank. Or maybe I could say the past is starting to feel less like a blur and more like a noose? No, I can’t say any of that without sounding like I’m crazy.
He pulls away from the curb with one hand on the wheel, and the other on the armrest. Every part of him screams control.
“You wanna skip your shift at the bar?”
His tone is casual, but I can tell he doesn’t want me to go. “I can call and tell them you’re not coming.”
I shake my head. “Can’t afford it.”
“I’ll cover it.”
Of course he’d say that.Because that’s what men like him do, they throw money at the cracks and pretend it’s glue.
“I can’t afford that either,” I mutter.
His jaw tics—barely—but he doesn’t push.
“I just don’t like the idea of you being alone,” he says after a pause, like it costs him something to admit it. “Not after you told me that someone is practically stalking you.”
Well I didn’t exactly say I had a stalker. I don’t look at him, instead I just let my eyes blur out the window as the streetlightssmear past. What am I supposed to say?Actually, I don’t remember enough to know what the fuck’s even going on.
And, oh yeah, the only thing I’m sure of is the ache in my stomach every time my phone buzzes and I don’t know if it’s going to be a meme from Sarah or a death threat.
“You don’t have to protect me,” I say instead. “And I highly doubt it’s a stalker.”
Even if every part of me feels like it is, and he’s probably right.
He snorts. “Sure I do. You’re mine.”
I am not going to even justify that with a response, so I just keep staring forward like he didn’t just say that. God, what is it with men and claiming things they don’t even understand?
The silence stretches between us, but he drops it, probably thinking my non answer is a confirmation.Great.Before I can correct him he interrupts.
“I have to leave for a bit.”
I blink, turning my head, but his profile is carved in shadows, all clean lines and impossible calm.
“Where?”
“Work trip. I’ll only be gone for a few weeks. I’m headed to the East coast.”
Three weeks without him watching me and asking me out every day. Maybe that would be nice, but what if something happens when he’s gone?
“I want you to come with me.”
