He walked across the street to a tiny bodega. There’s an ice chest outside, with a combination lock on it. I watched as he put his ear to the lock, then turned it and popped it open. He reached in and pulled out a handful of ice, then walked it back across the street. He wrapped the ice in a towel that he pulled from his trunk and then pressed it against my face.
I winced at the coldness and tried to move away.
“Stop,” he commanded. “You need to put ice on it.”
I turned my cheek to him and let him put the ice on my face. After a minute, my skin started to go numb, and I began to feel better.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I reached out to take the ice pack from him, because he was still holding it to my skin. His closeness was making my stomach twist itself into knots. I thought about how close I came to kissing him a moment ago, how close I came to wrecking everything, to destroying the only thing that had ever meant anything to me.
“Olivia” Colt said, and the way he said my name made me shiver. “I’m taking you home.”
“No.” I shook my head. “No, that’s okay. I can’t… I mean, I’m not going to…” I was babbling and I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. I couldn’t let Colt take me back to the shelter I’d been staying at. It was in a horrible part of town, even worse than this one, and it was humiliating. The last thing I wanted was this put-together, rich guy knowing where I was staying.
“You’re coming home with me.” It was a command.
“What?”
“You’ll stay at my apartment. With me.”
“Oh, no.” I shook my head vehemently. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking me.”
“No, I really… I need to get home.” I tried to make my voice sound like I had people there waiting for me, a mother or a father or maybe even both. A roommate or an older sister who would be worried about me, expecting me, wondering where I was if I didn’t show up. Over the years I’d perfected saying “I need to get home” instead of giving details. Usually, it worked. But not this time.
Colt shook his head. “Too bad.” He took my hand and pulled me toward his car. And this time, I let him.
His car smelled of leather and sandalwood, mixed with the spicy scent of cologne. The seats were close to the ground, and I had to duck to get inside.
Colt climbed into the car next to me, and as he turned the key in the ignition, I caught sight of the watch on his wrist. It was silver and heavy-looking, with a thick band. I had never been this close to that kind of wealth. I’d seen it on tv and in magazines, but I’d never been so close that I could touch it. I marveled at the fact that Colt’s watch probably cost the same amount as what it would take me to live for a whole year.
He shifted the car into gear and pulled out onto the street. I expected him to peel out, for the wheels to squeal and the smell of burning rubber to fill the street. You don’t have a car like Colt’s without liking to drive fast. But Colt drove slow, controlled, and I got the feeling he was doing it because I was in the car.
“What did those men want from you?” he asked once we were on the main road.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what did they want?”
I shrugged and pulled the ice from my face, studying myself in the side view mirror. I winced at my reflection. There was already an ugly bruise beginning to form under my cheekbone.
“What did they say?” Colt pressed.
“Not much. They called me a slut and a whore, told me they wanted to have fun with me. You know, the usual things you’d expect guys like that to say.”
His hands tightened around the steering wheel. He took in a deep breath, like he was trying to control his temper. “That’s all they said?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Did they mention anything about money?”
“Money?”
“Yes.”
At first, I didn’t understand. But then I got it. “You mean like paying me to have sex with them?”
He nodded, like this was completely normal in his world. It made sense. I supposed you couldn’t run a strip club without having to worry about prostitution.
“No.” I shook my head. “Not for sex. But they offered me twenty bucks to flash them. Then they called me a whore and slapped me.”
His hands tightened around the steering wheel again and his knuckles turned white. I saw the fire burning in his eyes, and I wondered what he would have done to those men if I hadn’t been there. Something made me think it wouldn’t have been pretty. Something about his presence was unnerving me, making me feel like I needed to get out of there. I thought again about the way his arms wrapped around the back of my shoulders, how they pulled me close to him without even asking permission, like he just knew I would want to kiss him.
He was right. I did want to kiss him. An image flashed through my mind, his hands in my hair, his lips on mine, our tongues intertwining. In my daydream he tasted like peppermint and alcohol, and his kisses left me breathless.
Declan.