Page 61 of His To Erase
I lean back, arms crossed, letting one leg slide out under the table.
“I wear boots and sarcasm, Frank. Not diamonds, but thank you.” I pause, then arch a brow. “You think a gift’s gonna make me swoon?”
His mouth curves. “I think you’ve already started to.”
I scoff, but my pulse betrays me. It always does with men like Frank—I know he’s the kind of guy who watches for tells, and feeds off my reactions.
“You’re cocky for someone who comes and goes without warning.”
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “I told you I was leaving town.”
“I don’t care where you are.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dipping lower—sharpened into something that could draw blood.
“Then why haven’t you told me to fuck off for good?”
Because you make me feel like I’m being watched even when you’re not here. Because a part of me still wonders what it would feel like to let you win.
But I smirk instead. “Because telling you to fuck off would mean I cared enough to finish the sentence.”
His gaze drags over me—trying to memorize the shape of my defiance.
“You do. You just don’t like admitting it.”
“And you like hearing yourself talk.”
He laughs, rich and dark. “You’ve missed me.”
“I’ve missed my peace and quiet.”
Frank finishes his drink in one swallow, the glass clinking softly as he sets it down. That charming mask—danger wrapped in good tailoring—slides perfectly back into place.
“Are you free tomorrow?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even check your schedule.”
“I didn’t need to.”
That smile of his doesn’t falter—but his jaw ticks.
I turn my back before he can see the satisfaction curl across my mouth, but I feel his stare press between my shoulder blades like a brand. He doesn’t leave for the rest of the night. He just sits there, drinking his water like the bar exists because he allows it to.
It’s not until close that he moves again, sliding up to the bar while I’m stacking glasses and wiping counters like I didn’t just spend the past hour pretending I couldn’t feel his eyes crawling across my skin.
“One more before I hit the road?”
I glance at the clock. “You driving?”
“Wouldn’t be drinking if I was.” His smirk ticks up a notch. “Just figured I’d keep your pretty face company.”
I snort, grabbing a clean glass anyway. “You must be really bored.”
“Only with everyone else.”
He laughs, soft and smug, like this is a game and he’s always three moves ahead.
