Her mouth trembles before she forces a smirk. "Because I'm younger? Because my dad would rip your head off?"
I snap, "Yes! All the above! And because I'm telling you, I'm not interested. That should be enough."
She scans my face, searching for cracks. "I don't believe you."
"Not my problem," I deadpan.
Her tone sharpens. "You know, most guys would be honored I broke into their apartment."
"I'm not most guys."
"They'd be impressed at my skills," she adds.
I stare at her.
She bats her eyelashes and lowers her voice. "I have other skills."
I cross my arms over my chest and hold her gaze. "Blue, go home. Before someone sees you here and your father thinks I'm doing something I'm not."
Her eyes flare, wounded. Then she moves. Fast.
She presses herself against me, flings her arms around my neck, and rises on her tiptoes. She whispers, "Just admit to me that you think about us."
I grab her wrists behind my head, lower them, and firmly warn, "You need to listen. It's never happening between us."
She jerks back, eyes flashing. "You're unbelievable."
"Good. Then you're finally listening." I point at the door. "You're leaving."
"You can't kick me out."
"I can. Keep watching, kid."
"I'm not a kid! I'm old enough to drink!"
"You are, and your immaturity is showing at this very minute," I scold.
She pouts, but her eyes turn to glass.
I sigh. "Listen closely, Blue. You're a great-looking young woman. There are tons of guys who would love to date you. But it's never going to happen between us. Don't take it personally."
She clenches her jaw, glaring at me. Then she mutters, "One day you're going to regret not giving me a chance."
I shake my head. "I regret a lot of things. This won't be one of them."
She glares. "You're just terrified of my father."
"I'm fully aware your father could end me for sneezing in your direction, yes."
"So youarescared."
"You should listen better. I just rattled off all the reasons it's never happening, and your father is only a small part of the equation." I open the door. "Move."
She stomps past me into the hallway, heels clacking like gunshots. I follow, shutting and locking the door behind us, even though none of it keeps her out.
We walk the corridor together, and I silently beg for no neighbors to appear. I steer her toward the stairwell.
She turns. "If my father asks where I was, I'm telling him I came here."
