Page 13 of Dead Set on You
Did he even sleep? Or was he contemplating ways to make this more petrifying for me?
I imagine him taking Sharpie markers to my face, and the urge to find a reflective surface is overpowering.
“This is impossible,” he says finally. “I’m losing it.”
“The only thing you’re losing is the OhLaLove account,” I point out, eager to get the conversation on track. “Which, by the way, we can agree is now solely mine.”
“OhLaLove?” Rafael’s brows pull together like it’s not fully registering.
“You know—the account you nearly tanked by going off script and channeling your inner frat boy?” I narrow my eyes. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”
He doesn’t answer. Just steps closer.
I fight the urge to retreat and maintain my power stance.
Rafael keeps advancing until he’s within touching distance.
He’s somewhere around six feet tall, and even though my heels address some of the height gap, I have to tilt my head to meet his gaze head-on. But his height doesn’t intimidate me. Not one bit.
My lips twitch at the same time as his.
“I need to stop drinking,” he says, rubbing a hand down his scruffy jaw.
“It’s a little late for that revelation,” I counter.
Flecks of honey glimmer in the dark brown of his irises. I’ve never been this close to him without my blood pressure spiking—which is clearly responsible for the heat climbing up my chest.
I swallow it down and lean closer into his space. “You should have thought about your drinking before you ordered tequila shots because you thought I couldn’t handle it.” I smirk. “Joke’s on you. I handled your shots just fine. I feel like new.” My pounding head would disagree.
His eyes scan my face. “But you seem so real,” he murmurs.
Rafael’s arm darts out.
I duck away before his hand can make contact.
“What the hell are you doing?” I gape at him.
Silence.
Rafael prowls forward a step.
I retreat. Once. Twice.
We do this absurd little dance until my butt is almost up against the edge of the dining table. I throw my arms out to stop his advance before we start climbing over the table.
“Enough!” I snap. “Are you on something?”
Rafael stalls, shaking his head. “I must be. It’s the only explanation.”
“I’ll also need an explanation,” I add. “And I’mdyingto hear what it is …”
He scrubs a hand down his face, mutters unintelligible words in Spanish.
Outside, an ambulance siren blares. Inside, the AC hums through the exposed industrial vents above us.
Seconds tick away. Rafael just … stands there.
I imagine another email dinging in my inbox, and my irritation flares.
