“It’s not,” I say.
Reva’s fingers pluck at the three rubber bands on her wrist. She did it in the bar, too; clearly it’s some kind of nervous habit. Not the controlled kind. The unconscious kind.
It does something to me I don’t like, especially the red marks they leave on her skin. I reach over and cup her hand, stilling the motion, shaking my head when she looks at me in question.
I want to tell her she shouldn’t be alone. That she shouldn’t sleep in cars. That she shouldn’t be so soft with her own safety.
But soft isn’t the right word. She’s not soft. She’s…unguarded in all the wrong ways. That’s worse.
“Why are you here?” I ask, and the question comes out too blunt.
Reva’s head snaps toward me. Her eyes go hard. “For a job.”
“No.”
Her lips part, angry. “Excuse me?”
I stop walking and face her. “You’re not here for a job.”
Her throat works. She holds my stare like a dare.
I can see the fight in her, but I can also see the exhaustion under it. The fraying edge. Like she’s running on anger and willpower and very little else.
Shiloh was right. She’s a puzzle, and puzzles can get you killed if you underestimate them.
Reva’s voice drops. “You don’t know anything about me.”
I take a step closer before I think better of it. “I know enough to know you’re lying about almost everything you’ve said since you got here.”
She doesn’t flinch. She should.
I should step back. I don’t.
For one long, heated second, I can feel the pull of her—something hot and unwanted, like touching a live wire you shouldn’t be anywhere near. We linger in a suspended beat, our bodies barely an inch apart, breaths intermingling. She’s so close I can see the pale ribbon of gold in the deeper brown of her eyes, like a starburst around her irises.
Then I force myself to turn away.
“Get ready for work,” I say, sharp. “We leave in twenty.”
Reva’s stare is a tangible sensation on my back, like she wants to throw something at it. I keep walking, refusing to turn and look at her.
Because if I stay one second longer, I’ll do something stupid.
I can’t be attracted to her. And even if I am, I can’t do anything about it. Shiloh’s already in too deep, ignoring all the red flags and warning signs.
It just won’t work.
I have to be the rational one if no one else is gonna do it.
Ghosts don’t feel things the way you do, Reva. You’re still here. That’s not nothing.
Do both of us a favor and forget about revenge. That never did anyone any good. Go to work. Get your EMT certification. Get a little cat.
And I’m not old enough to be your fucking daddy. I’m thirty-three.
—Ash
CHAPTER TWELVE
