Should take the empty flat behind me as a sign that I need to walk away before whatever is happening here builds into something I can’t undo. Or something I’ll regret.
But I can’t seem to get my body to do what my mind is screaming at me to do. All because of that ridiculous organ in my chest that has decided that just this once, the longing wins out over the fear.
“Idiot,” I say out loud, closing my eyes and knocking the back of my head against the wall again. I blow out a breath. “What the fuck am I doing?”
“It looks like you’re stalking me.”
My eyes shoot open, clashing with the prettiest pair of blues I’ve ever seen.
“I’m an expert on the matter. You’re giving off serious stalker vibes.”
“What?” I ask, sitting up straighter, my elbows resting on my knees. “I’m not...”
Darius smiles, dimples popping and his eyes crinkling at the edges. He gestures to the pizza box.
“Are you planning to eat that out here, or do you want to bring it inside?” He tips his head towards Caiden’s front door, a pair of keys dangling between his fingers. He’s wearing a backwards cap, bright blue shorts to match and a white vest.
Jesus fuck, he’s gorgeous.
I should go.
Wordlessly, I stand, pick up the pizza box and follow him into the flat. Caiden’s grumpy cat jumps up onto the counter, meowing loudly at Darius, who pays me no attention while he feeds the obnoxious thing. Once he’s done, Darius leans over the sink and opens the window. The sound of a busy southwest London street filters in, along with a hint of a breeze to break the otherwise listless heat in the apartment.
“You came back,” he says, his back to me as he pours water into two glasses. “Caiden’s still not here.”
Fiddling with the corner of the box, I say, “I came to see you.”
Darius turns towards me, a grin sliding onto his face.
“I knew it, stalker!” He chuckles. “You really came here for me?”
I nod andbloody hell, my cheeks are hot, a flush working its way down my neck.
He looks at me. Really fuckinglooks. Like he can see right into my soul. It unnerves me and I shuffle on my feet, rub the back of my neck and then let my hands hang at my sides.
“Should we eat?” I ask when his scrutiny becomes too much. I can’t have him looking at me like that, as though he can read me like a book. I’m not a book, and if I am, I’m in a fucking language no one has heard of.
Darius is quiet as he walks around the counter, taking up position at my side. So close that I can smell coffee on his skin. He lifts the lid of the pizza box, frown lines stretching across his forehead.
“There’s fruit on this,” he deadpans, his finger poking at a slice of pineapple.
I shrug. “It’s my favourite. I didn’t know yours.” I haven’t eaten more than a couple of slices of pizza in a very long time, but when I do, it’s always this one.
Darius studies me again, this time with his eyes narrowed, his brows pulled, but before I can say anything he nods, spins on his heels and makes his way to the lounge.
I follow behind, pizza box in hand, and take the same spot on the sofa that I had last night. Darius tucks his legs beneath him and turns on the television.
“Have you seen this one?” he asks, hovering over yet another true crime documentary.
Reaching forward, where I’ve left the pizza on the table in front of me, I pick up a slice, then lean back. My stomach cramps as I bring it to my lips and I breathe through it and take a bite. It goes down like sandpaper, but I take another two bites, chewing tightly before putting the rest back in the box.
“No,” I reply, wiping grease on my black gym shorts. I don’t tell him I don’t own a television or that I can’t recall when, before last night, I actually watched something other than sport on the large screen in the bar I work at part-time.
He turns to face me, his back to the armrest and his sock covered toes pressed to the side of my leg. “It’s a good one.”
I run a hand through my still damp hair.
“If you know what’s going to happen, why do you want to watch it again?” Darius’s toes flex, digging into my leg, and I absentmindedly wrap my hand around them and squeeze. His eyes dart down, then back up to meet my gaze. I don’t let go of his foot.
