Chapter 40 Neve
FORTY
NEVE
Itilt my head lazily back against Faust’s leather passenger seat, a smile curving my lips. In one hand, I grip a blue raspberry slushy in a Styrofoam cup, and in the other, I’m twirling the ends of my hair, strands come free from my bun.
“To My Knees” by Two Feet plays from his speakers, but he didn’t put that on.
A third of the way through my slushy, the coconut rum I poured into it after I stopped by my place to grab some things—Cyn was preoccupied, so mercifully I only had to text her about my exploits—and snagged the bottle from the freezer.
Faust eyed it disdainfully after I threw my matte black duffel in his backseat, but he didn’t say anything. Only put his car in drive and took us to Sonic. After we got our food, we pulled into a dark parking lot behind a shuttered old grocery store.
Now, alone with him in the dark of his car, a triple cheeseburger with only lettuce, pickles, and mayo between his fingers, I feel like this was a terrible idea.
Even worse than being in bed with him.
Because all I want is what I shouldn’t have. The hockey player who might be a stalker, possibly a murderer, or at least teammates with one.
The boy who might have the key to my closed heart in his pocket.
The same one who stood in front of my door, scratching at it in the dead of night while he texted me.
Was it really him? I don’t know yet.
We’re too close, and his dark eyes on mine as he chews with his mouth fully closed is doing things to me.
The windows are cracked, letting in a slice of icy air, but with his heat on and the seat warmer under my thighs, I long ago ditched my hoodie. I relegated it to his backseat and now my nipples tighten beneath the white, sheer cami I’m wearing.
But he’s still staring at my face.
“You’re so handsome.” The words slip out, and I know it’s from the alcohol and the lack of food—a double cheeseburger and tater tots are in the white bag at my feet, but I haven’t touched it—yet I don’t regret it.
He is handsome. Square jaw, high cheekbones, broad nose, those lips. And I know how soft they are on mine. And how big his dick is, even if I’ve not ridden it.
Yet.
He swallows, then lifts his brows. “Am I?” His voice is delicious too, husky and sensual, no matter what he says. I don’t think he’s trying, and that’s the sexiest thing of all.
I take another pull from my plastic straw, my fingers pressing against the soft cup as the syrupy concoction slides down my throat.
There are no thoughts of murderers, stalkers, or even hockey in my brain.
Nothing about essays or classes I could potentially miss in the morning—the poetry workshop will be boring without me but I’ll personally survive.
There’s only this moment.
Him.
Me.
“Yes.” A giggle leaves my lips and I grin afterward, my teeth flashing.
His nostrils flare slightly, his gaze dipping to my mouth. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
It really is as if my heart skips a beat. I can feel the palpitations in my chest, and I have to suck in air deep.
And take another drink.
I shake the slushy with one hand, as if the motion will ground me.
I don’t usually get so silly in lust with boys.
In fact, I pride myself on playing them instead of the other way around.
But something about the quiet control of Faust Darling makes me feel like it might be safe to fall apart, if only for a moment.
He takes another bite of food, shifting his gaze from mine. I glance out the windshield. His headlights are off, and we’re facing the back of the old building. It’s beige brick, no windows here, a ramp I assume they used for loading up supplies when the trucks came.
Behind us, where he backed in, it’s forest, some of it encroaching on the chain link fence that marks off the property line.
Dark flakes of snow misting in the air but only visible from the moonlight overhead.
Sonic is in the suburbs of Drayton and we’re in a tiny town technically called Drusford, which means it’s quiet out here.
No one will find us.
Not so long as we’re hidden away.
I wonder if that’s what he’s thinking about.
Or maybe just the cheeseburger he polishes off with ease.
He crinkles the wrapper, tosses it in his bag on the console, then pulls out the brown paper napkins.
He wipes his mouth, then his hands. Afterward, that goes in the bag, too.
He neatly folds it down, twists around—giving me a view of his triceps beneath his black sweater—and puts the bag in the backseat.
He pops open the middle console and pulls out spearmints in a round, blue-green container.
Lifting his eyes, he flips up the tab and offers me one.
I grin. “I can take a hint.” I scoop one out, but he rolls his eyes as he takes two, places them on his tongue, closes the container, and drops it back in the console.
“You always smell divine,” he says around the mints clinking against his teeth.
I crunch down on mine, letting the taste explode like ice in my mouth.
Then I take another drink.
The combination is heavenly.
“Do I?” I ask, after I swallow. “You don’t really know me. Maybe I’m only like this when I’m with you.”
He grips the steering wheel, knuckles blanching as his forearms tighten beneath his sleeve, pushed up just slightly.
The watch is on his other hand and I glance at it, fingers on his thigh.
It’s fucking endearing, such a cheap watch always affixed to his wrist. It makes me want to bite him.
“I want to though,” he says quietly, but he doesn’t look at me. “Know you.”
“Don’t get too close,” I answer sweetly. “Or I might bite.”
He smiles then, and the sight of it makes my heart race. “Maybe I like it rough.”
“Being with me is that, but not just in the ways you think.” I shouldn’t have said that. It’s way too open, way too soon, and this man might have been stalking me over the weekend and possibly killed three men who had interactions with me.
Yet somehow, I don’t feel endangered. Or I just like the danger.
“Maybe I need someone to keep me on top of my game.”
“You seem to be doing your game just fine.” I bat my lashes playfully at him.
He rolls his eyes but the smile is still half there. “You don’t scare me, North.”
“Maybe I should.”
“Nah,” he says easily. “I’m winter proof.”
The joke makes me laugh and I know I’m in too deep already.
“Why aren’t you eating?” That question is unexpected and the laughter dies off immediately.
My throat tightens.
So he’s going to hit me where it hurts.
I think of Jemma. Slut D was nothing to the fear Nolan put in me when it comes to food.
My cheeks heat, but I shift in my seat and say casually, “I’m not hungry.”
“Bullshit.” There’s anger in his tone.
I cut my eyes to him. “Whatever you’re thinking, I don’t need you to. I’m fine.”
He turns to me, and our gazes lock. “Take a bite,” he whispers, jerking his chin to the bag at my feet.
I narrow my eyes. “I’m drinking like a four hundred calorie slushy.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps. “You are horrible at estimating calories. Even with the rum, that’s maybe two fifty, and that’s pushing it. It’s a small, and it’s mostly made of ice.”
“I’m actually really good at estimating calories,” I say back, but there’s no heat in the words.
His eyes lift to mine. “Overestimating, sure. So you don’t eat too much? Feel too full? Start feeling down about yourself if you enjoy a meal?”
I clench my teeth together and take a breath in through my nose.
Then another slurp of my drink as I look away from him. “We’re not doing this right now.”
“Then when’s a good time?”
“You’re not my fucking therapist.”
“Thankfully. I can put my hands on you, and they can’t.”
My heart races as my body grows warm. Holy fuck. His eyes don’t leave me; I feel him like a brand. Like he’s marked me as his, and maybe he has. It was his name I said when I came undone, not Sylvan’s.
“Tell me what you want to do when you’re done at Drayton.” He speaks quieter now. Softer.
I feel melty, like I could slip over to his side and fall asleep against his chest. He knows what the fuck he’s doing.
“I’m a psych major,” I start with, shifting in the seat to rest my cheek against it and peer up at him.
He dips his head, a small smile tugging on his lips. “I know.”
“How?” I narrow my eyes and think of him outside my door.
He shakes his head once, amusement still playing along the smallest lines near his eyes. “You’re not invisible, Neve Devine. You know that, don’t you?”
“Sure,” I say, “I’m great. But what does an elite hockey player care about us mere mortals?”
He laughs then, just one low sound, more of a scoff than anything, but it makes me feel warm, because I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.
Is he like that on the team? As the captain? Does he ever relax, or is he always so serious?
“I don’t… think I’m all that.” He wrinkles his nose like even saying the words bothers him.
“You’re saying people don’t ask for your autograph when you’re walking in Dundas Square? Girls don’t throw themselves at you when you’re out for parties or at strip clubs or—”
“Strip clubs?” He jerks his head back like I’ve personally offended him. “I don’t go to strip clubs.”
“What? You got something against them?” I ask.
He looks bewildered, his lips in a line, brows furrowed. “No, I just… I don’t like all the noise and the crowd, and if the guys go—which they do—there’s definitely going to be a crowd—”
“So you do get harassed for your number and your dick and—”
“My what?” he asks quietly, a smirk playing on his lips.
I take another drink. My fingers feel a little numb. “Your… dick.” It takes all of my tipsy willpower to stare at his face and not look down to his gray sweats where I’d definitely feel said dick if I crawled over the seats and started grinding against him like I desperately want to do.
He’s staring at my mouth now. “I like how your lips move when you say that word.” His fingers squeeze the wheel of the car.