Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,16
a million other emotions I can’t name.
“Whatever. I never would’ve gone through with it, anyway,” I say, not sure whether my words are true or false. My eyes are smarting again, as inexplicable rejection courses through my system.
It’s not lost on me that I’m more upset about the sexy green-eyed stranger turning me down than I was about breaking up with the only guy I’ve ever attempted to date.
God, what the hell is the matter with me?
(Don’t answer that.)
His eyes are still on my mouth as he reaches blindly to his right and presses a button to activate the intercom. When he speaks, it isn’t to me. “Evan?”
“Sir?”
“It’s time to drop Gemma off, now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Seconds later, I feel the car turn, though I don’t take my eyes off the man mere inches from me.
“If you’re so eager to be rid of me, let me out here,” I snap childishly. “I’ll walk.”
“No.” A flat denial.
“You’re annoying.”
“You already told me that.”
“Well, I meant it.”
“Good,” he says, his tone serious. “It’ll make it easier for me to stay away from you.”
I stare at him for a while, not knowing how to respond to that, until I finally summon courage I didn’t even know I had, and whisper the question haunting my thoughts.
“What if I don’t want you to stay away?”
His eyes flash dangerously. “You don’t have a choice about it.”
“I’m not some innocent, little girl you need to shield from the world,” I tell him, my voice hushed. “And I’m not looking for love or romance or whatever bullshit you apparently think girls like me need.” I lean closer to him. “You might think you’ve got me pegged, but you don’t know anything about me. I’m not a relationship kind of girl. Ralph was the closest thing I’ve come to commitment and, well, you saw how that turned out.”
His eyes flash again.
I lean closer. “Maybe I don’t want to date you. Maybe I am interested in learning what not dating you looks like.”
A threatening sound, almost like a growl, erupts from the back of his throat. “I already told you — I can’t.”
“You can. We can.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
One brazen word — a taunt — pops from my mouth before I can stop it.
“So?”
“You’re playing with fire,” he grits out. “Do you know what happens when sugar hits flame?”
I shake my head, barely listening as my eyes move over his chiseled face, its planes and angles stunning even in the dim light of the car. I can’t stop myself from questioning what it would be like to kiss him again, from wondering what he’d do if I closed the gap between us and pressed my lips to his.
“It turns to ash.” He growls again. “Gemma.”
My dazed eyes drift up to his. “What?”
“Stop.”
Registering the sheer steel in his tone, I sigh in resignation. He’s not going to change his mind. He doesn’t want me.
The realization should embarrass me, but for some reason, all I feel is crushing disappointment.
“Fine,” I mutter, turning to look out the window.
Less than a minute later, we’re pulling up outside Chrissy’s building — an ancient, classic brownstone with flower boxes and picture windows.
“Thanks for the ride, Green Eyes,” I say, shrugging out of his coat and casting one fleeting glance in his direction as my hand closes around the door handle.
Those very eyes widen slightly as they move over my face, as though they’re memorizing my features. “Green Eyes?” he asks, amused.
“Well, I suppose I could’ve gone with knight-in-shining-town-car or destroyer-of-self-esteem, but neither of those quite roll off the tongue.”
He shakes his head, his mouth twitching with amusement again, though his eyes are serious.
“Do something for me?”
My eyebrows lift.
“Don’t keep the key to your apartment under the doormat, anymore. The thought of that asshole getting back into your place…” He trails off, his expression suddenly dark.
Before I can stop myself, I’m reaching out and laying a hand on his arm. His eyes jerk up to meet mine as soon as my cold fingers make contact with his skin, and I know he must feel it too — the static current that jolted through me as soon as I touched him.
It’s eerie. Electric. I pretend not to notice it, though the charge seems to grow stronger the longer my hand rests on his arm.
“I won’t,” I promise gently, a little bit touched that this stranger cares more about my well being than the man I dated for the past four months ever did. “I promise.”