Page 64 of Touch Me

“Oh no.” I swat at his hands. “Don’t touch me.” I roll to my side and push myself up, ass first. He reaches for me again, and I swing my elbow out of his reach, sending myself to the ground again. “Don’t make yourself uncomfortable for me, Mr. Lancasser.”

“Dude, she said leave her alone.” Scoober Uber guy pushes Jace’s shoulder from behind.

Jace spins around and has the guy by the collar in a head-spinning blur of motion. “I said get lost,” Jace growls.

Okay, that was hot as shit.

Scoober guy grits his teeth at Jace and peers around his shoulder to peek at me. “You okay, doll?”

“Yep.” I get to my feet and celebrate standing on my own. “All good.”

It’s been a weird day.

“Iss ok, I know him. You can go. Thanks Uber Scoob... I mean, Scoober... Uber Scoot... whatever, thanks.”

I shuffle past them and head for the door. As I’m fumbling in my purse looking for my key card, Jace swipes his. Refusing to make eye contact, he holds the door open, leaving a wide berth for me to pass.

“Even when you’re an asshole, you’re still a gentleman.” I stop in the doorway and narrow my eyes at him. “Iss annoying,” I slur. He flares his nostrils and meets my eyes, but says nothing.

He punches—and I mean punches–in the elevator code and crosses his arms, facing forward.

“Oooh, someone’s mad,” I taunt.

His jaw clenches so hard I can practically hear it, but no words.

“No words. Never any words.” I sing the words while swinging my hands like a maestro conducting an orchestra.

When the door opens, Jace enters and does his stupid gentleman thing and puts his hand out so the door doesn’t close. I stick my tongue out as I pass like the mature adult I am, and slink to the corner. My ankle rolls in my shoe as the elevator surges into motion, and I catch myself on the arm rail, spinning around all nonchalant like my ankle isn’t throbbing to the rhythm of house music.

I kick my heels off. “Stupid fucking shoes. Haven’t worked all night. How can I have shoes that don’t work, right?” I say and catch myself before almost slapping Jace playfully on the arm. “Ope, that was close.” I cover my mouth and giggle. “Almost touched ya. Can’t do that.” I limp over in front of him. “Right? No touching,” I mock in a man’s voice while pointing my finger at his chest. Arms crossed over his chest, he levels me with a glare. “You look like you want to strangle me. But,” I pause, finger in the air, “that would require touching, so I know I’m safe.” I do a little dance in the elevator, and his eyes never leave mine. “Jace doesn’t want to touchme.”

He surges forward, backing me up against the wall. Both of his fists hit the wall above my shoulders and he boxes me in, his face inches from mine.

“Is that what you think?” A dark, crazed look flashes in his eyes, his chest heaving with erratic breaths. “That I don’t want to touch you?”

Fuck me.

Now I have no words.

“Dammit, Cassie.” His jaw clenches as his eyes bounce from my eyes to my lips and back again.

His arms shake as my body sings with an electric spark I’ve never felt before, and instinctively, I wet my lips. Jace growls,literally growls, and it reverberates through my entire body before I raise my hands, fighting the urge to brush them down his chest. He leans down, nose to nose, and every muscle in his face tenses, a warning not to touch him.

The elevator doors woosh open, and my hair dances in the breeze created by his quick escape. The blood rushing past my ears muffles the slam of his door, and my ankle throbs as I step out of the elevator.

I guess I’ll crawl to my room then, thanks.

SEVENTEEN

HE ISN’T ME

After sequesteringmyself in my bedroom all weekend in an attempt to avoid Cassie, I take comfort in the bright rays of sunlight beaming through the window, reminding me of its ability to touch me with its warmth. A warmth that takes root and spreads solace without passing judgment. A warmth I spent far too long being ignorant of. And one I feel the loss of when I’m pouting in my room, withholding its healing from myself. It wasn’t until I took up surfing that I understood the healing effects the sun had on me, and if I could apologize every day for ignoring the blatant attempts to guide me to its light, I would. The ability to face my own shit and not hide in my room would certainly help.

Or I need to get a contractor to punch a hole in my bedroom wall for a giant window.

Tomato,tomahto.

This day almost feels like it did B.C.: Before Cassie. Sitting at my desk, mindlessly punching keys to successfully earn my clients and myself money. I’m fidgeting with an urge to move and go outside under the sun, and absolutely hell-bent on not leaving this spot. The internal conflict that wages war inside my head every day.

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