Page 70 of His To Erase
“For you, maybe,” I say, just loud enough for him to hear.
His eyes flicker. Then he reaches out, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear—his fingers linger a beat too long.
“This place is mine, doll. No one touches what’s mine.”
It echoes through my chest like a bell that was struck wrong. I can’t tell if I’m flattered…Or fucking terrified.
His? I fucking knew something was up. Especially with the way people were acting around him.
And what the fuck did he mean byno one touches what’s mine?
I lean back into the booth, as his words settle in my lungs like smoke. Around us, the bass throbs. Lights flash. People laugh and drink like nothing’s wrong—like I didn’t just hear something that could’ve been a flirtation… or a warning. Maybe both.
Frank’s eyes scan the room, and just like that, the moment’s gone.
He just sits there—arm slung over the back of the booth like he owns the fucking underworld. And I’m just the girl lucky enough to breathe in it.
That little flicker of unease spreads through my chest like a bruise.What am I doing here?
“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” I say, already sliding out of the booth before he can say something that makes me want to throat punch him—or worse, agree with him.
He doesn’t stop me, he just nods once.
I push through the crowd fast—dodging the swaying bodies, sweat, and spilled drinks.
The hallway near the restrooms is quieter, but not by much. I lock the door behind me and grip the edge of the sink, trying to slow my breathing.
What the hell am I doing here?
It’s not just the wordminethat made my pulse spike. It’s how he said it.
I turn on the faucet and splash water on my face.
“Get it together,” I mutter at my reflection.
But the girl staring back at me looks pale. My eyeliner’s smudged and my lips are pressed so tight they’re practically colorless. I look like I’m about two seconds from bolting.
And then—I hear a soft thud behind me.
I jolt, heart in my throat, eyes snapping to the mirror, looking behind me, but the stalls are empty. It’s just me and my own stupid panic in here.
“Cool,” I whisper. “Let’s just add bathroom jump-scares to the list of red flags tonight.”
I step into the hallway, forcing myself to walk slowly, like I didn’t just splash water on my face and talk myself out of crawling out the window.
When I round the corner, Frank’s on his feet with one hand clenched into a fist, and the other fisted in the front of some guy’s shirt—some guy who looks two seconds away from pissing himself.
His mouth is moving, but the music’s too loud to catch the words. Doesn’t matter. Whatever he’s saying works, because the guy nods like his life depends on it—then stumbles backward and bolts for the exit like hell’s on his heels.
Frank exhales, rolling his shoulders as he adjusts his sleeves. And then he sees me.
The grin he gives me is calm. It’s the same grin he’s worn all night, only it’s a little off putting that he looks like he didn’t just scare the soul out of someone.
He strolls back to the booth and I just stand there, pulse thudding, while something cold twisting beneath my ribs. Because for the first time since I met him... I wonder if maybe I don’t actually know who the hell Frank really is.
“You good?” he asks casually.
I nod once and slide into the booth across from him. But something about Frank tonight feels… different. Sharper around the edges.
