Chapter 17
Gable
Operation: Distract Ella and resist killing her.
Easy enough, right?
Wrong.
After getting dressed, she decided she wanted to go to the flower shop—alone. A way to regain her confidence, apparently, which seems reckless as fuck but worked in our favor. It means I can follow her but not spend any time with her. Win–win.
So, how do I distract a woman I hate and who hates me?
I buy every orchid from her local flower shop. Every. Single. One. I have them delivered to the local hospital, hoping for some good fucking karma, and watch from a distance as Ella steps out of the flower shop, defeated.
I stand across the street, leaning against a tree, sucking my lollipop and cackling. “What’s the plan now, Gibson?”
Predictable as always, she stands outside the store on her phone, probably searching for the nearest flower shop with good reviews. Which is A Flowers Day, and all of those orchids are gone, too.
I can’t wait to see her disappointment when she walks all the way there and leaves disappointed, again.
Except someone runs past and snatches her phone.
And Ella takes off running after them.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
She throws her purse over her shoulder, and damn this girl can run. No wonder she’s caught two muggers in the past. I’m not sure if she runs every day or if adrenaline is fueling her, but she’s sprinting full speed, which means I have to run, too.
Why can’t shit ever be easy with her?
I break out into a sprint on the other side of the street, dodging people, trying to keep my eye on her. I watch in half horror, half amazement as she ties her hair up while running so it doesn’t impede her view.
Is this woman a superhero?
The mugger turns a corner and Ella follows, screaming something at him; I almost get hit by a car as I cross the street to try and grab her before she gets herself killed. Asher would somehow find me at fault for that.
My lungs are already fucking burning. This is why I do my job. It’s easy to subdue a guy when you’re as strong as I am; cardio isn’t totally necessary to choke a guy out, and right now I’m running more than I have since I was fifteen and got caught robbing a store.
Ella skids to the right, almost losing her footing, and disappears down an alley. And I already know what I’m going to find before I even get there.
I follow, almost colliding fully with Ella, a gun pointed at the both of us.
“You …” I wheeze, hands on my knees. “Are a fucking nightmare of a woman!”
Ella has her hands up. The mugger looks panicked, the gun shaking. “I’ll shoot you! I swear I will!”
I straighten, sweating, my throat on fire.
“What are you doing here?” Ella asks, almost unfazed by the gun. Actually, very unfazed by the gun. She’s like Batman.
“I saw you running,” I say. “Fuck, I have a stitch.”
Ella rolls her eyes. “You came to save me, and you have a stitch? Wow.”
“Fuck you, Gibson,” I say. “Cardio is not my thing!”
“Neither is being a hero, apparently.”
I gape at her. “I saved you not twelve hours ago!”
“And your second time around sucks!”
Oh, I’m about ten seconds away from letting her get shot. What a tragedy—a life without Ella fucking Gibson.
“Stop arguing!” the mugger shouts, moving the gun between Ella and me. The guy is in his early twenties, if that, sweating profusely, still clutching Ella’s phone in his hand.
“Listen, asshat!” Ella says. “That phone has my life on it! Give it back or I swear I’ll kick your ass into next week.”
I’m still panting. “You’re arguing with the guy with the gun?”
I can easily disarm this douche. He looks like he’s not even sure how to use the gun effectively. He also keeps wiping the back of his hand over his face because sweat is dripping into his eyes.
“I’m not scared of him,” Ella says, gesturing in the mugger’s direction. “He can’t even use that thing.”
I put my hands on my hips. “How do you know?”
“Because the safety is on,” she says matter-of-factly.
I blink, lean to the side, and eye the gun. She’s right. I dart forward, seizing the gun and pointing the useless barrel at the ground. I snatch the weapon and throw my fist into the mugger’s nose. He hits the ground, hands covering his face, whimpering.
Ella picks up her phone and points at the mugger. “Crime doesn’t pay!”
I scoff. “That is the worst line ever.”
“I’m on the spot!” she cries. “What would you say?”
“Nothing; I knocked the guy on the ground with one punch. I don’t need to say something cool; I exude cool.”
Ella dusts off her phone and inspects it. “Exude is a big word for a Neanderthal.”
“Does that mean your dad doesn’t know it?”
Ella punches my arm and heads out of the alleyway, looking left, then right.
“You’re seriously not even going to thank me?” I ask, following her out.
“For what? I could have done that.” She types something into her phone and heads right, toward A Flowers Day.
She’s immediately shaken off the incident, seemingly unaffected, and I’m almost impressed.
Most people would have accepted that their phone was gone, and that’s how life goes sometimes.
Not only did Ella pursue the guy, but she remained completely calm, and even now, while her adrenaline is probably ebbing away, she’s fine.
“Why are you following me?” she asks, stopping and rubbing her throat. She still sounds a little scratchy.
“I dunno. I’m bored. Where are you going?”
“The gynecologist.”
“Cool. What’s up with your vagina?”
She scowls at me. “Go away, Gable.”
“Yeast infection? HPV? Pap smear?”
“Why,” she stresses the word, “do you know so much about gynecologist appointments?”
“I worked in a doctor's office,” I say, keeping pace with her as we head toward the flower shop.
She tucks her phone into her bag and looks up at me. “Really?”
“Nope. So, where are we actually going?”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Sundays are supposed to be peaceful.” She raises her hands to the sky. “It’s God’s day. Why is the Devil following me?”
I grin. I like being called that. It isn’t the first time. I’ve been called it before I killed people, I’ve been called it by women, but it feels particularly satisfying coming from someone I hate.
“Maybe I’m following you because I like you.”
She scoffs so loud it looks painful. “Please, you like me about as much as I like you, and I’d rather rub my bare ass over a fire ants’ nest than be this close to you. So, tell me, what do you want?”
Okay, think. What do you know about Ella Gibson? She’s a writer. She’s annoying as hell. Her dad is a cop. All true but all useless when it comes to distracting her for another … I glance at my watch. An hour and a half left? Jesus.
There’s one thing I definitely know about her.
“Fine.” I sigh, not needing to feign my annoyance. “My brother likes you, really likes you, so I figure we should at least try to get along for his sake. Even if I do sometimes daydream about pushing you into traffic.”
Ella narrows her eyes. She’s rightfully suspicious, but even she can’t deny that though I’m an asshole, and I know I am, I also love Asher more than anything. And I’ll put up with a hell of a lot if it keeps him happy.
She huffs. “Fine. So, what do you propose we do? Hold hands and sing?”
“No, I don’t want to catch anything from you,” I say, glancing around. “Oh! A bar. I can tolerate you if I’m drunk.”
Twenty minutes, two shots each, and one beer down, I’m not close to drunk, but apparently Ella is a total lightweight and is determined to drink as quickly as I am. She knocks back her third shot of tequila and shudders so hard the table shakes.
I grimace. “You’re so fucking weird.”
“I’m adorable,” she says, pulling the ugliest face I’ve ever seen as she sucks on a lemon like it’s her salvation. She suddenly slaps her palms flat on the table, and the shot glasses tumble over. “Okay, let’s get to know each other. Tell me something likable about you.”
I look at my watch. One hour. One fucking hour.
Hurry up, Asher.
“I have a dog,” I say, sipping my beer.
Ella thinks for a moment. “Okay, that’s fair. Something likable about me? I can quote every line from The Other Guys.”
I sigh. “That’s not likable. That movie sucks.”
“Don’t go chasing waterfalls.”
“Stop it.”
“Desk pop.”
I run my hand down my face. I know of at least four ways that I could kill her with this shot glass. Four ways. It would be so easy.
She pushes her beer bottle next to mine. When she sees how much I’ve already finished, she takes several deep swigs to catch up.
Great, she’s probably going to vomit, too.
“Oh!” she hollers, so loud that several people looked over at us. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we say something we love … like about Asher?”
I make a point of ignoring that Freudian fucking slip.
“I can do that.” In fact, I can do it too well, because there are a lot of qualities I like about Asher, but most of them are about how effectively he can kill or dispose of a man. “He hates cookies. I love cookies. Easy.” I sip my beer.
“That’s a selfish reason!” she says and burps.
“Charming.”
She presses her finger to her lips. “My turn. He asks me questions.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Wow, the bar really is in hell when it comes to your dating life. That’s why you like him?”
She pulls a face. “It’s hard finding guys that show an actual interest. Deacon was more interested in my dad.”
I shrug a shoulder. “Maybe because you’re a little boring.”
I take another swig of my beer before noticing Ella’s face. Her cheeks are pink, her wide eyes glazed over.
And her lip trembles.
Shit.
“You’re such an ass.” She climbs out of her seat, and I don’t know what to say as she shoves the door to the bar open and leaves.
I sigh, dropping money on the table and following her out. She’s already across the street. Damn, she really is fast. “Gibson!”
She ignores me and speedwalks, and when I finally catch her arm and turn her, she’s biting the inside of her cheek.
“I …” I falter. “It was a joke.”
“Funny.” She turns away from me again and keeps walking.
I watch her, annoyance bubbling, because how the hell was I supposed to know that she’d take it seriously? She’s said plenty of shitty things to me; why is this any different?
But my stomach is twisting with the same guilt I’d felt at brunch. And whether I like it or not, Asher cares about this girl.
“Gibson.” I catch up with her, but she ignores me, still speedwalking toward the apartment. “I’m sorry, okay? I took it too far, or whatever.”
Ella skids to a halt. “‘Or whatever’? You suck at apologies!”
“I never fucking apologize; sorry, I’m rusty at it. See! Twice! I don’t think I’ve even apologized to Asher twice.”
Ella folds her arms, looking in the direction of the apartment. Her cheeks are still flushed, either from the alcohol, the argument, or the rapid pace she always fucking walks at.
“Listen,” I say. “We don’t like each other; that much is clear.”
“That’s the one thing we can agree on.”
My eye twitches. “Yes, but we also both care about Asher.” She finally looks at me. “So, I take back what I said; it was a thoughtless joke. Okay?”
She pauses before nodding curtly. “Apology accepted.” She suddenly swallows hard and presses her hand to her stomach.
I back away. “Don’t puke.”
She takes a breath, her face paling. “I shouldn’t have run. This is your fault.”
I glance around and spot a store. “Wait here, lightweight.”
A few minutes later, she’s sipping a ginger ale as we walk back to the apartment. She’s still pale, but hasn’t puked yet, so that’s a bonus.
My phone vibrates.
ASHER: I can’t find it. Where are you?
ME: On our way back. Your girl is a lightweight.
Ella suddenly stops, hands on her stomach, and groans. “I do not feel good.”
I’m about to tease her again when I glance toward the building, and my entire body freezes.
A hangover is about to be the least of our problems.