But I want to give her space too.
And before I can think of what to reply with, my phone is pulled from my hand.
And held above my head, the screen facing Faust fucking Darling.
He’s more of a brat than I gave him credit for. I thought that title only belonged to Sylvan.
I hop up and down, trying to swipe the phone out of his hand as I let my bag swing down from my shoulder and smack him on the arm with it.
But he has no problem keeping it out of reach.
That’s what happens when you’re six fucking four.
“Great.” He must read the text, because after a moment, he offers my own phone back to me.
I snatch it out of his hand, purposely letting my nails scrap against his palm. “Great,what?”I snarl, clicking the side button to dim the screen and pushing my phone in my pocket, my fingers turning to ice out here.
“You can come to my place.”
“Absolutely not?—”
“I want to talk about Sylvan. Unlike him, I don’t want to fuck you, Neve.”
This shuts me up.
It kind of annoys me too, because it better not be true. Not that I would fuck him tonight, or ever, but maybe I’ve thought about it in the nearly four days I haven’t heard a word from him.
A soft smile tugs on his lips and I drop my gaze to the chains around his throat, which doesn’t help, because they’re fucking hot, contrasted with the lapels of his coat.
“Please?” he asks quietly.
“And you’ll drive me back home when I want to go?” I negotiate, thinking of his red BMW.
He nods once. “Yes, North.”
North?But for some reason, I don’t question the nickname.
TWENTY-THREE
NEVE
Faust backs the red BMW into his garage and for once, I’m speechless.
He lives in a fucking castle. I’ve driven by this entrance before on my way to Toronto but never thought much about it except it looked expensive. Now, I’m shocked.
From the quiet street, he turned into a long, winding driveway, complete with an iron gate he pressed a button for inside his car. It swung open before us, darkness dancing at the edge of his headlights.
Snow drifted along the roads and swirled with the salt to create ghostly shadows in the night. The dark stone of the small castle, the twisting turrets stabbing the sky, thequietthat seems to surround his wooded lot, it all dances in my mind.
Does anyone else know he lives in a castle?!
I even noted with amusement that there were what appears to be spider webs backlit in red along his porch, going up the black railings that bracket his pale steps.
I think of Nolan taking me trick-or-treating as a kid when Mom had to work on Halloween night and how he’d always grumble about it, but he still took me, never letting go of myhand and inspecting all of my candy. He’d take out the pieces he thought would give me a stomach ache. At first I assumed he wanted to eat them himself, but later, I’d always find them in the trash.
When I became a teenager, I started giving him all my candy voluntarily, save for one piece. He seemed proud of me then.
Thinking of food and the last time I ate, my stomach grumbles, but I like the sound. I know it’s wrong, and something isn’t right in my head, but it makes me feel good, to be hungry.
