His eyes narrow. “What are you going to do? Lie? You better think of a plausible way I made you unhappy because complaining that I kept you in here will add gold stars to my name.”
This idea sounded fantastic at the time, but I’m evidently not diva enough to pull it off. Sarcasm I can do. Lying isn’t my style. “I want to talk to Eli.”
“You can’t. He’s in Church.”
My eyebrows raise. “He’s where?”
“Church,” Oz repeats. “Our chapter’s board and the Lanesville board are meeting. There’s no disrupting them.”
“What if I’m bleeding?”
“You aren’t.”
“What if I need to go to the bathroom?”
“Not falling for it.”
“Please. I have a million unanswered questions and I want to hear what Eli has to say.”
Oz lazily shrugs one shoulder up and then down. “Not my problem.”
“Sneak me out. I’ll never tell.”
“You telling isn’t the problem.” There’s a serious set to his face that captures my attention. “If Eli asks if I kept you in this room, I need to answer him point-blank yes. Part of being in this club is keeping my word and answering honestly when asked.”
“I hate you,” I mumble.
“Works for me,” says Oz.
I grab a magazine off the desk and yank it open. Of course, it’s full of motorcycles and I flinch. Inside I’m screaming. Naked girls. Very, very naked girls strewn across motorcycles. I toss it onto the desk like it was infested with bugs. Which it probably is. The type of bugs that give venereal diseases. “Classy.”
“It’s a good issue,” Oz says. “And you didn’t even get to the good part.”
“The fascinating articles?”
“No.” His mouth tilts in this teasing way. “The centerfold.”
The centerfold. Gah. “And you didn’t even get to the good part,” I whisper in a high-pitched mock.
Oz actually gives a good-natured chuckle and I’ll be damned if I don’t smile in response.
“I don’t understand it,” I say without thinking.
“What?”
I pause, but decide to continue. I’ll never see him again after today. “Why you make me feel comfortable.”
Lines bunch together on Oz’s forehead as he studies me. “Comfortable?”
I flex my toes in my sandals. “I don’t normally push at guys like I do with you.”
“I have a hard time believing that. Next you’ll claim you’re shy.”
A sardonic twist of my lips. “I’m not shy.”
“No shit.”
I giggle, he grins, then I sigh. Heavily. The events of the past twenty-four hours catch up to me. Being ripped away from my parents, some illegal motorcycle club at the motel, Olivia telling me that my life is a lie, trying to please Eli, the guilt of not pleasing Eli, the anger at Eli... A choking sensation squeezes my throat and I scratch my neck as if I could tear away the invisible noose.
“You okay?” Oz asks.
No. I’m not okay. All of this chaos threatens to follow me home. I’m happy at home. Content. And this visit from hell is going to mess with that.
Olivia said my life is a lie and there’s this dark suspicion that if I ask my mother for the truth, she won’t give it to me. An ache courses through me and my shoulders curve in with it. I’ve never doubted my mother before. Never. The pain that a few hours can shake my faith in her is too much to bear.
A slight, distant feminine voice rises up from the vent below my feet. My skin prickles. She’s here. My mother’s here. I stand and Oz pushes off the door, his eyes narrowed. “Emily, are you okay?”
I swallow.
One moment—a few seconds—and my entire life can change. I can do this and looking at Oz convinces me that overhearing my parents and Eli’s conversation is possible.
His black hair is an array of messy tufts sticking out in various directions. The bandanna is off and the urge is to knot my fingers in the strands. I step into his personal space. Close enough that heat instantly springs between us. Close enough that when we inhale to breathe, our bodies touch.
I lift my head and Oz’s deep blue eyes dart around my face in confusion. There’s a light stubble on his jaw and, being braver than I normally am, I reach up and gently brush my fingertips along the rough hairs. My heart beats faster with the soft scrape against my skin and Oz sucks in a breath of air.
“What are you doing?” His voice is deep and gruff. Each syllable caressing my soul.
What am I doing? I’m submitting to temptation. I’m taking control of my life. I lick my lips and Oz mirrors the motion. He’s not lying. He’s as attracted to me as I am to him and there’s no part of me that will regret what’s about to happen.
“I’m leaving soon,” I whisper.
“You are.”
“And I won’t be coming back.”
“You won’t.” His gaze wanders the length of my body. “But we can’t do whatever it is you’re thinking of doing.”
Resistance—not what I need and, deep down, not what I want. “Why not?”