“Great,” I grumble, sitting up in bed.
Between using my phone to play music earlier and its nonstop audiobook use, its battery is dying. I need to be better about charging it. The power company’s website estimates it will be on in the next two hours. It’s almost eleven, so I know Anker is already asleep. He’s never been a night owl, so I opt to turn off my phone to conserve energy and go to sleep.
With the power out, I’m on high alert with every sound. The creepy howl of the wind doesn’t help. This is why I seldom do scary movies or books. Every bit of debris that slaps against my balcony makes me think of the book’s scythe-wielding killer.
The sound of loud banging at my door makes me bolt upright in bed. “Fuck!”
Heart racing, I grab my phone to turn it on again in case I need to call for help. There’s no way I’m opening that door. Even if Kayla’s suggested book didn’t have me on edge, I never open the door to someone I don’t know.
“Jensen! Are you there?” More banging echoes. “It’s Garrett!”
Brow pinched, I jump out of bed. “Garrett?”
“Thank god.” The relief in his voice is muffled.
I undo the deadbolt and the lock on the knob. “What are you doing here?” I ask, opening the door.
He rushes in. “The power is out.”
“I know.” I close the door and motion at him. “How did you get in?”
“I snuck in through the garage,” he pants.
“You broke in…Again?”
“You weren’t answering your phone,” he grits out.
Dim candlelight outlines his form, but the rest of him is shadowed in darkness. Even if I can’t see him, not clearly, his energy paints the picture of a man in distress. Spine straight, chest heaving, and hands on his hips, he stares at me. My bodyignites with the intensity of the gaze sweeping over my figure in assessment.
“Why do you never answer your fucking phone?” he barks, exasperated.
Indignation blazes within me. “It’s off?—”
“Why?”
“It was about to die. I turned it off to conserve the battery, so I could use it if there was an emergency,” I hiss, holding it up.
“You should have called me.” He prowls close. “I would have come. I?—”
“We’re not together.”
“That doesn’t matter. You still should have called,” he shouts.
“Don’t you dare yell at me, Garrett Marlowe.” I poke his chest. “And don’t pull this overprotective, possessive alpha malebullshiton me. You’re not my boyfriend. You made it clear you don’t want that job, so I’m not yours to worry about.”
“I never said I didn’t want the job,” he leans close, his breath against my lips sends heat crisscrossing within me.
“You said?—”
“That this isn’t a good idea—” He motions between us. “That I don’t want to hurt you. I never said I don’t want the job. That I don’t want you. All I do iswantyou. Every fucking minute of the day. From the moment you blathered on about whatever Chicago trivia you’d googled at Anker’s birthday five years ago, I’ve wanted you.”
I can’t breathe. The punch of his confession steals my ability to say or do anything besides stare at him. I know Garrett wants me, but the fact that he’s always wanted me sends my world off kilter.
The last five years flash through my mind’s eye like a picture book. Each memory tells the story of a man pushing away the one thing he wants, and the girl too stupid to see what’s been in front of her this entire time.
“It fucking hurts how much I want you,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I’m no good for you, and I know that, but I want you anyway… Every day I fight it.”
“Stop fighting it, then.”
