Page 28 of Cherry Beats

“It feels pretty good to me.”

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“No one but us.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the one thing I’ve got left that’s completely separate from that goddamn circus I live in.”

“You don’t have me. Remember? We made a deal.”

“No…” He leaned in even closer until his lips brushed my ear, making my skin burn. “You made that shitty deal, Cherry. Not me. You were the one too scared to deal with the after.”

“Andyouwere the one who told me you wouldn’t ever be backafteryou left for London. What did you expect me to do? Sit around waiting?”

“I gave you other options, and what did you do in return?”

“Don’t…”

“You walked out of the door.”

I pushed him away, but before I could look at him, he’d turned his back on me and was walking through my apartment without a care in the world.

“You got a bath in this place?”

“What?” I snapped, scowling as I watched his retreating form highlight all the muscles in his broad back.

He spun on his feet, stared right at me, and continued to walk backwards. “I’m taking a soak.”

“Oh, are you now?” My brows rose high. “Sure. Make yourself at home. Why not?”

“Was going to anyway.” He winked. “Let me know if that spark comes back between now and me leaving. I’d really like to have a conversation with that cherry bomb who ruined me three years ago.”

Then he was gone, disappearing around the corner, leaving me standing there with nothing but my open mouth and galloping heart.

* * *

His place felt a solar system away on the tenth floor of a fairly new complex that sat on the outskirts of Hollings Hill.

Presley tossed his keys to the side—I had no idea where they landed. I was too busy looking out of the huge window that took up most of the far wall and showcased an inspiring view that went on for miles and miles and miles. It was open plan. A brown leather L-shaped sofa took up the wall to my right. To my left was a simple, glossy white kitchen with a breakfast bar jutting out, and two shiny black stools tucked neatly underneath it.

“How do you afford this place on your own?”

“I don’t.”

I turned to him and raised a brow.

“Dead dad—mum with a selfish streak that rubs up against her guilt chip.” Presley gestured to the place around him. “Abracadabra.”

“Sorry about your dad.”

“Shit happens.”He swallowed subtly.

“Doesn’t stop it stinking.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those types.”

“What?” I grinned.

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