“You told her you were mygirlfriend, Max! Do you know what that does?I don’t need this shit!” He storms out, marching toward the parking lot.
I look at Drake. “What does thatdo?”
Drake lets out a forced breath. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“Okay. Well, it was nice meeting you, I guess?”
Drake nods in the direction of Eli. “You better go catch up. Eli is known for leaving people.”
I quickly run towards the exit. “Eli! Wait! Sorry!”
He doesn’t stop walking. Just throws the words over his shoulder like he’s done.
“Now, I see why you say the wordsorryso much, Max. What the hell is wrong with you? Seriously?!”
The thing is, I’m normally more reserved in business settings. More cautious. I don’t flirt with strangers or declare fake relationships to their exes like I’m auditioning for a telenovela.
But there’s something about him. Something about this brooding, bossy, beautiful man with eyes like storm clouds andthe emotional range of a locked vault has me unraveling with curiosity and zero restraint.
Maybe it’s adrenaline.
Maybe it’s the way he grabbed my hand back at the club like he owned me.
Or maybe I’ve just spent too much time listening to Timantha and her crew wax poetic about their scandalous adventures and steamy international rendezvous.
It’s clear I’ve gotten carried away. Lost in this imaginary Beauty and the Beast fantasy where I’m Beauty, thinking I’m charming the Beast. When really, I’m just pissing this man off. Poking the bear.
I catch up to him as we reach the truck. He stops at the driver’s side, hand hovering over the handle, but he doesn’t open it. Doesn’t move. Just stands there, shoulders stiff, breath uneven like he’s wrestling something down inside himself.
“I didn’t like how she looked at you,” I say quietly, my voice softer now. “Or how she looked at me. I wanted to punch her in the face, but instead…” I trail off, losing my words as I try to read whatever is happening beneath all that controlled intensity.
“It just…slipped out. The girlfriend thing, I mean.”
His breaths are almost calm, but there’s a storm simmering just beneath that hard exterior.
“I’m sorry, Eli.” I take a careful step closer, heart pounding. “Did she hurt you?”
He doesn’t answer. Just walks around to the passenger side, unlocks the door.
And I follow. Because even if he won’t say it, I already know.
She hurt him.
And now I want to hurt her back.
He’s stopped, staring into the passenger side window.
“Do we hate her?” I ask, stepping into his space, my hand finding his arm and lingering there, hungry to touch the heat and muscle beneath his coat. “Eli?”
He exhales sharply, and I watch the frost of his breath collide with the heat of the storm raging inside him.
Then—without warning—he turns.
One step. One shift of his massive body and I’m backed up against the side of the truck, breath caught, heart racing.
His hand slides along my side, slow, like he’s mapping every inch of me. Like heneedsto know what I feel like beneath his palm. Goosebumps erupt across my skin and I swear I stop breathing. It’s no longer cold. I’m warm all over.
He’s still reserved, but he stares at me like he’s trying to translate a language he hasn’t spoken in years. Like he’s asking for something without letting the words escape.
