I slide into my seat and slap the envelope onto the table between us, forcing my lips into a smile that feels like broken glass slicing my face.
“Here you go.” My voice sounds normal, almost bored, which is a fucking miracle considering the volcano erupting inside me.
“Thank you,” he says. I watch his hand as he takes the envelope, making sure his fingers brush mine for a second.
I reach for my wine, draining the glass in one long swallow. The alcohol burns down my throat, fueling the fire in my chest.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his eye boring into mine.
“Never better,” I chirp.
Something flickers across his face. Surprise? Or maybe concern? Either way, it’s gone before I can be sure. And if the look resurfaces while he pays or during the drive back to my place, I don’t see it. Probably because I’m busy ignoring him.
“I’ll walk you up,” he says when the car stops in front of my building. Not a question. Not an offer. Just another command.
Reaching my door, I fumble with my key, hyperaware of his presence behind me, the heat of his body close enough to feel but not touch. When the lock clicks, I push the door open and turn to face him, placing one hand on his chest to stop him from following me inside.
“Goodnight, Matteo.” My voice comes out softer than intended, almost vulnerable. I hate it.
He leans down, his lips aiming for mine, and I turn my head at the last second so they land on my cheek instead.
I feel him stiffen, his breath warm against my skin. “Raven—”
“I said goodnight,” I snip, firmer this time as I step backwards into my apartment. The door closes between us with a finality that’s deeply satisfying, the lock engaging with a decisive click.
The moment I’m alone, my composure shatters like thin ice under a hammer. I let out a scream that would shatter the windows if I were a paranormal creature born from the need for revenge.
My reality is much sadder and a lot more pathetic. I’m not all-powerful. I’m not even as playful or happy-go-lucky as I always make people believe.
I’m… well… fuck. I’m just me. Lena Raven Carter. The woman who’s good enough for a fun time, but the one no one ever keeps around.
If I’m being honest with myself, this is why I have random sex and steal from the men I’ve fucked. It’s my shield. My buffer. My way of pretending I’m in charge. But I’m not.
Once upon a time, I was Leo’s favorite person. But then he met Ollie. I’ve had other friends apart from Piper, but they’ve all settled down. Not me though. This is why I keep moving. If you always stay ahead and leave first, you don’t get let down.
You don’t get… abandoned.
Chapter 27
Raven
Hours pass as I stare at my phone like it’s a bomb about to detonate, Matteo’s name lighting up the screen. I let it buzz, buzz, buzz against my hand until silence returns. The apartment feels too big and too small at the same time, my breathing too loud in the emptiness he’s left behind.
Pin it.
I reach for the mental tack, trying to shove tonight into the same box where I stuff all my bad decisions, but my fingers slip through nothing. Some things refuse to be pinned down.
Sleep doesn’t come, and I feel like the clock on my phone is taunting me. Two becomes four in the morning, which bleeds into eight.
All I have to show for my sleeplessness is discovering that my ceiling has this tiny crack shaped like Florida, and I’ve never noticed it until now, when I’ve been staring at it for hours.
Psycho Bastardflashes on my phone again at ten-fourteen, and I watch it ring out. My hand hovers over the screen, caught between the urge to answer and the need to protect what’s left of my dignity.
Psycho Bastard: I tried calling you, Little Thief. Why aren’t you picking up?
A snort escapes me at the stupidity of the text. Why do people feel the need to say they’ve called? The missed call tells me that. Instead of doing the grown-up thing and replying, I mark the text as unread. When the onslaught continues, I finally text him back.
Me: Sorry, feeling like death. Some kind of stomach bug.
