Shaking my head to dispel the insanity, I throw my arm over the back of the bench, twisting my fingers in the ends of her honey-colored locks. “Well?” I press, cocking an eyebrow. “Is that not the best bagel you’ve ever had?”
She hums, picking a piece off with two fingers. “It’s pretty good, I’ll give you that. Not sure my life has changed because of it, though.” Moaning again as the dough hits her tongue, she shakes her head. “Okay, but how? How is it so good?”
“Boiled, instead of fried. Makes them crunchy and chewy in all the right places.”
Making a little sound in the back of her throat, she looks back out at the bridge, and I look at her.
Her phone buzzes, interrupting the conversation, and she reaches into her purse to pull it out. Wiping her hands on her pants, she sets the half-eaten bagel on top of the paper bag, then slides off the bench.
“I need to take this.”
Shrugging, I watch as she scurries away, knowing that even if she tried to run right now, it’d take minimal effort for me to catch up. She’s small and has no idea how to navigate the city.
Besides, I don’t think she has much interest in ditching me at this point.
Maybe that shouldn’t please me so much, but I can’t deny the way my blood heats in her presence. Technically, I could let her go—auction rules are pretty strict, but when what you’ve purchased is defective or not delivering, they tend to be more forgiving about refunds in order to avoid lawsuits.
I’m just not interested in buying anyone else’s time.
Awareness scratches at my insides, fascination sprouting with that familiar sense of dread the longer I watch the girl. Intrigue is a dangerous thing, and I’m plummeting like a falling star, unable to lessen the impact.
The need to know more about her digs into my stomach, weeds twisting around my insides until I’m practically suffocating in my ignorance.
Unhealthy coping mechanisms, my mother would say. Obsessions with things that don’t matter in order to keep the darker thoughts at bay.
My gaze drops to the rings on my fingers, jaw clenching. If anyone knows about unhealthy ways to cope, it’s her.
“…yes, I’m fine. Please do not come back here.”
I glance up, finding the girl’s back as she leans over a metal trash can, phone pressed to her ear. One hand grips the rim of the can, while the other reaches up to scratch at her scalp repeatedly.
“It was two minutes, Boyd. There’s really no reason to be this upset.”
The man’s name rolls off her tongue flippantly, and it feels like a concrete block drops right onto my chest. My lungs burn with the stress, and I realize just how close to unraveling I am.
I shift, hooking my ankle over my knee, and take my phone out to distract from the conversation. Willing myself to put some distance between the intensity of the inappropriate jealousy swimming in my veins, I unlock the screen and turn away from the blonde.
Several missed calls litter my notifications—three from Callie, one from my father, and a dozen from my producer Simon, who I’m supposed to meet when we fly to LA next week.
I don’t bother listening to any of the voice mails, knowing they all probably say the same things. Demands of my whereabouts, as if they aren’t tracking my every move.
Like I haven’t noticed my bodyguard, Jason, lurking at every corner, watching from a distance, only ever giving me the illusion of freedom.
My fingers slip beneath the band of my watch, and I press down as I open my texts. There are three from Liam, detailing the paperwork of my donation and the subsequent rage of my father, who’d been contacted as soon as the funds transferred.
Liam: You have maybe an hour. Hour and a half, tops. Finish getting your dick wet so we can go back to the apartment before your dad murders me.
I don’t bother correcting him as I send a thumbs-up emoji and put my phone back in my jacket. Let him think what he wants—maybe if my father believes I gave the money away for pussy, he’ll back off.
That’s his MO, after all.
Liam: The Internet knows you left the gala. Just FYI. Be on the lookout.
“No. If you come back right now, I swear I won’t forgive you. I’m fine.” The girl turns slightly, meeting my gaze. She exhales, her breath wisping like smoke above her head. “Yes, I promise. Jesus. Okay, I’ll talk to you when we’re back at the hotel.”
Something heavy pulls at my chest, scraping like thorns at the tendons there. The thought of the night ending already makes my entire body sag, buckling beneath the weight of a missed opportunity.
Instead of dragging her up the street, I should’ve been grilling her all this time. Finding out what makes her her.
Why the blue hues in her eyes seem to dim when she’s lost in her thoughts but brighten when they’re engaged with mine.
I clear my throat, and she finally walks back over, shoving her phone into her purse. Forcing nonchalance, I watch as she settles back onto the bench, stuffing a large bite of the bagel into her mouth.
“Boyfriend?” I ask, apprehension notching along my throat.
She snorts. Shakes her head. “Brother.”
“Ah.” I nod, relief splashing over me like a bucket of ice water. My heart stutters as I continue. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Chewing, she steals a glance at me from the corner of her eye. “I’m not sure I’m really the dating type.”
“No?”
She shrugs. “I know that probably seems crazy, what with how much you know about me.”
“Well, I know you’re not a hooker, and that your taste in bagels is subpar, at best.” I inch toward her, the heat from her body reaching out with invisible fingertips. “You just don’t really strike me as the love them and leave them type, is all.”
“Maybe I’m full of surprises.”
“Yeah?”
Driven by some powerful, transparent force, my hand reaches out slowly, once again tangling in her hair. A light shiver skates along her spine, and I trace it with the tip of one finger, arousal collecting in my gut and spurring me on.
She doesn’t ask me to stop or lean away.
“Maybe you’re more attracted to danger than you’ve let on? You did, after all, come out tonight with a complete stranger.”