Hot and cold, close and far, rude and nice.
He keeps me on my toes, always second-guessing his next move. After our kiss on stage I thought he’d seek me out again, but he stayed away, making me run around in circles. Our chemistry is undeniable. I wasn’t acting when I parted my lips, letting him deepen the kiss. I wasn’t acting when my whole body trembled in anticipation of something more, I wasn’t pretending to love every second.
I did... and I was certain he did, too.
I want him close. I want his time, attention, and kisses. I want to check if his lips are as soft as I remember, if he’d be anydifferent off stage. Would he weave his fingers in my hair or grip my nape again? Or maybe he’d hold my jaw like he did when I rolled my eyes...
Was the urgent passion a one-off? Would he be slow and careful next time or—
No. He’d kiss me like he owns me. A deep, erotic battle. He’d pin me against the wall or clamp me in his lap. Close. Trapped.
My head hits the headrest. I’m getting worked up thinking about his touch, my panties uncomfortably damp. The thrill of not knowing whether he finds me attractive, whether he’s interested, elevates my desire.
I glance at him again. He’s focused on the road, seemingly relaxed, but it’s a façade. Underneath, he’s guarded, tense, ready for action.
Every time I see him, I get this feeling he doesn’t belong in college. He’s too powerful. Too perceptive, calculating, and ominous... like he’s seen gore beyond my imagination.
I suppose that’s true.
Chloe asked around after I told her Nash took me into town for the diary. She found out he’s an army brat as well as being ex-army himself.
That explains his posture and the sense of superiority he emanates. Though recently, I’ve wondered whether it’s superiority or a higher purpose: a sense of duty exuded by most army men.
I would know. My father served for years before he joined the police force.
While they’re alike, Nash is...more. He’s unlike anything I experienced in the life I remember. He makes me feel out of place and like I belong. Scared and safe. My fight or flight response hovers at eleven when he’s close. One moment I trust him, the next I want to run.
I can’t keep up with my own head, so instead of picking a lane, I blame my fragile mind for its inability to decipher Nash. Dr. Phillips said there should be no lasting brain damage but he could be wrong.
Or maybe he lied.
Seems that’s how things work these days. Lies, lies, and more lies. My shoulders tense as Dad’s outburst this morning comes back to shit all over my good mood.
“You promised you’d keep in touch, Hailey. That’s not optional! I need to know you’re safe. You check in with me every day!”
“You disabled the cameras, didn’t you?” I ask Nash, banishing Dad from my thoughts. “You bribed the janitor?”
“The janitor?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“Well, I figure there’s a room full of monitors somewhere and the janitor keeps an eye on everyone, right?”
“No one’s watching, Hailey.” His jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth in small circles. It’s not a smile, that twitch on his lips. Not even a promise of one. Quite the opposite. “The recordings are stored on a hard drive in case something happens.”
“Oh... okay. So how did you do it?”
“I told you, the less you know, the better.”
That’s the same thing Dad told me when I asked why he’s so paranoid about someone listening in to our conversations.
“Seems to be the general consensus today,” I mumble, crossing my hands over my chest.
“Lose the attitude. Pouting doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m tired of being dismissed by everyone, so be a good boy and let me pout in peace.”
He grips the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles blanching more with every passing second. My back straightens. The way his nostrils flare, like he’s trying his hardest not to lash out, has me bracing for another battle of wits.
“You’re a piece of work, Hailey,” he clips, pushing an exasperated puff past his lips. “Fine. If you must know, I have a useful friend. He’s been hacking for years. Happy?”
