Page 49 of Dead Set on You
“Says the expert on all things reasonable?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Why are you certain you’renotan apparition?”
“For one, apparitions appear to …” I scan the page, narrowing on the exact reason I cannot be a crisis apparition. “Lovedones,” I enunciate, hoping I won’t have to spell it out.
His lips pull to one side, his dimple popping in to say hello. “Just because you don’t want to admit it …”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you dare finish that thought.”
“No?” He leans back, stretching his arms over his head. “Because I was going to say …”
“Rafael.” I glare, warning him to stop.
But him? He has the nerve to smile. “Evie.”
“I can’t do this,” I groan, more to myself than him. Blood pressure simmering, I jump from the chair and turn my back to him because Ican’t. Because this is a joke to him while I’m here thinking this isn’t like all the other times, thinking we can work like (incredibly reluctant) partners, (very tenuously) committedto one goal. But my plasma-for-a-brain clearly forgot that Rafael doesn’t do serious or commitment or any form of those two concepts. I shouldn’t be feeling hurt about it, but hey—more surprising things have happened these past twenty-four hours.
Needing to regroup, I circle to the other side of the table, my throat burning with an unexpected rush of emotions.What am I? And why can’t I keep it together?
This is a job—a project. Nothing requiring feelings, I remind myself.
I face Rafael, feeling a little steadier. “I know this isn’t ideal—helping me—but can you at least pretend to take this seriously? Pretend to care?”
The chair scrapes as Rafael stands and props his ridiculously manly hands on the table, leaning on his forearms. His features shift from amused to the same intense look from the Aviary, and my stomach churns at the possibility that he’s going to end this deal right now. I steel myself.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t need to pretend to care,” he says, serious and flat.
His words carve into my chest like a serrated scalpel.
“Oh. Okay,” I breathe, swallowing past the sudden sting in my throat.WTF, Evie?
“No—that’s not what I meant!” Rafael shakes his head, but it’s too late to take it back—to unring the proverbial bell.
Throat burning (with the onset of strep or something), I wheel around and stare out the massive window. It’s so bright out my eyes are starting to water.
Rafael’s reflection appears in the window, his body angled toward me. I refuse to look his way.
“Listen, E. That didn’t come out the right way,” he says, his tone almost apologetic.
I pivot further away from him so he can’t see my profile or my moment of weakness. “You don’t need to explain yourself. I heard the message loud and clear,” I say, hyperfocused on awoman walking several dogs on the sidewalk across the street. They drag her, tugging on their leashes, and she stumbles to keep up.
“I need you to look at me,” Rafael says.
I stiffen, because I will do no such thing.
“Evie.” His voice softens. “Please.”
Sucking on the insides of my cheek, I slowly turn and meet his eyes, fully expecting humor, a challenge, or something equally destructive. But the openness in his gaze unnerves me more than any of those things. “Rafael.”
“I was saying that I don’t need topretendto care, because Idocare,” he says. I want to roll my eyes. “And before you roll your eyes or say something to dismiss what I’ve said, I want you to hear it again.”
Thatlook—the one that may be intended to kill me—is back, and it leaves me a little breathless.
“You listening?”
I nod, wishing I could disappear. For real this time. Fade into the ether, float into the cosmos, get yanked back into my body—literally anything but this.
“Icareabout what happens to you.” His words rattle through me, caressing all the places I’ve sealed up to protect myself against hurt, ones he keeps finding. I want to rewind the last few minutes. Go back to his dumb jokes and infuriating smirks because that was familiar and easy, and this is not.
