Page 58 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

Gah! He’s so…infuriating!

Part of me wants to smack him, while the other wants to kiss the crap out of him. Obviously, the latter isn’t exactly an option, which leaves me where, exactly?

Oh. I know. It leaves me sexually frustrated and pining after a guy who’s only in my house because he’s dating my best friend.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

“Fine,” I grit out.

On shaky legs, I stand up, walk toward him, and bend down, picking up my backpack next to the entrance while ignoring how close Colt and I are standing. The metallic zipper sounds like nails on a chalkboard as I open my bag, searching for my wallet inside. “How much do I owe you?”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

My nostrils flare, and I pull out my blue wallet but realize I only have a couple of twenties in cash.

Great.

Dropping it back into the backpack, I let the bag fall with a thud at our feet and pull out my phone from my back pocket. “What’s your Venmo account?”

“Not necessary.” He pushes himself away from the doorjamb until he’s towering over me.

I can feel his breath tickling the wisps of hair on top of my head, proving how freaking close we really are, though I don’t look up as I unlock my phone and find the Venmo app. “Will you simply answer the question, so you can get back to your girlfriend?”

“She’s not––”

“Stop.” With my chin to my chest, I force out a slow breath. “Just stop. Stop lying. Stop twisting things. Stop messing with my head. Tell me how much I owe you, go back to Mia, and leave me alone.”

“Ash.” The pleading in his voice almost does me in, but I stay strong, refusing to look at him. “Fine. Three hundred should do it, right?”

“Ash,” he repeats.

“Not enough? How ‘bout five? Does five hundred sound fair?” I delete the previous three digits from the app and jab at my screen, typing in five-zero-zero.

He takes my phone from my grasp and puts it behind his back. “Ash, stop.”

Glaring up at him, I seethe, “Give me my phone.”

“Not until you promise to let the car be a gift, and you won’t pay me back.”

“You don’t own me. I can do whatever I want.”

“Then, you can say goodbye to your phone,” he counters, his jaw ticking as he looks down at me, his gaze flashing with determination.

Annoyed, I reach around his taut torso, scrambling for my phone behind his back, but he keeps it away from me in some messed-up version of keep-away.

“Give me my phone,” I demand.

“Not until you promise you won’t pay me back.”

I scramble for the cell again, but he jerks it away. “Look, it’s not a big deal––”

“It is a big deal,” I argue, reaching for my phone again, but he simply twists away from me, using his own body as a barrier between me and my cell until my front is nearly plastered to his, and our arms are tangled together.

“Give me my phone,” I spit.

He lifts his arm above my head, using his height to his advantage as he leans his head closer to mine. “Let me do this for you.”

I rise onto my tiptoes, reaching for my stupid cell when my breasts brush against his chest, sending a jolt of electricity between us. And I know I’m not the only one who feels it.

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