5 #3
With an annoyed grunt, he shoves himself up, and I notice him wince as he does. “Why have you been here ‘day in, day out’?” he asks. “Weren’t you supposed to leave town once you graduated?”
I chuckle dryly. “That’s what you picked up from everything I said?” I shake my head, hurrying out.
“No, I heard it all,” Mitchell says, following close behind. “I just don’t think you understand that this has nothing to do with what you want. None of it is about us. This is about Bill.”
Striking me like a physical blow, my shoulders sink as I reach my car. “Bill will pull out of this. He’s stronger than everyone believes.”
Anger mars Mitch’s face. “Since when have you been his biggest fan? Did you forget what he did to our families?” He hangs his head, shaking it, and clenches his fists at his sides. A few seconds later, he looks up, his expression softened. “He’s not pulling out of this. Deep down, you know that.”
Wrapping my arms around my chest, I fight the urge to collapse into his embrace and enjoy the comfort of his body against mine. To sink into the reality that he’s back, and that he still cares a little. But then I remind myself that he doesn’t care, not really, and I can’t let myself forget that.
“You may have given up, but I won’t be the one giving up on him,” I admit. I shrug and my mouth quirks. “Guess I have a thing for the underdogs.”
Mitchell blinks a few times as his confidence slips, and I almost smile, realizing I can still read his mind. He knows exactly what I mean.
He reaches an arm out, trying to pull me into his embrace, but I snap my hands up, pushing against his broad, oh so hard, chest. I may have craved his comfort a second ago, but now my body reacts with resistance. Even when I try to shove him away, all I do is push myself out of reach of his grasp.
“No, Mitch. Don’t do that. You and I are no longer friends. You can’t just come back and act as if we are.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do.” He tucks his lower lip into his mouth, glancing toward the house behind us. “But I’m here, and I’m willing to let it all go.”
“That’s mighty noble of you.” I touch my pocket and clench my jaw, pulling out my keys.
“At some point, we’ll need to talk about this.”
“No, we really won’t.” Quickly, I get into my car, slamming the door, but haven’t even slid the key into the ignition when I see Mitchell’s imposing frame standing on the passenger side. He opens the door and gets in. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m going with you.”
“Where?”
“To the inn. I want to see why it’s doing so badly.”
“I’m not going to the inn. I’m heading home.”
He shoves his sleeve up, checking his watch, a chunky, silver thing. “It’s early. You have time to stop by.”
It’s not a suggestion, but an order. I grip the steering wheel so I don’t slap the cocky grin off his face. “I am so not driving you anywhere. Or doing anything you say. Get out of my car.”
He sinks down into the seat, resting his head back. “I’m not getting out, so you might as well drive.” His scruffy beard only seems to accentuate that irritating smirk.
I cross my arms and jut my chin. “Well, you can’t make me.”
His head lolls my way, and he locks me in with a dark glower that forces me to swallow. “You know perfectly well I can make you.”
“Is that right?” I chuckle. “How, with one of your infamous tickle attacks?” I’m joking, but he arches an eyebrow, highlighting the sinister interest in his eyes. “You’re kidding. You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not sixteen, Mitch. You can’t tickle me into submission.”
Amused, he finally tears his gaze away. “No, maybe not. Guess I’ll have to find other ways to get you to submit.”
His not-so-subtle meaning plunges into my ears and swims to my core. “Get out.”
“Not happening.”
“Why don’t you drive yourself there?”
“’Cause this way we could talk.”
“All the more reason for you to drive yourself,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Worth a shot,” he replies with a shrug that grates on my nerves. He reaches for the door, glancing over his shoulder. “But like it or not, at some point we’re having this talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m over it.”
“Clearly,” he deadpans. He steps out, but holds the door and stoops to peek back in. “At least I’m mature enough to admit that I’m not over any of it.”
Something funny seizes my heart, but I pull my eyes away and aim them straight ahead.
“I’ll see you at the inn,” he says, and I hear, rather than see the smirk in his voice.
“I told you, I’m not going there.”
“Then I’ll come to your place.”
“Ha! Too bad you don’t know where I live.”
“Above the tailor’s shop,” he answers with a wink, then shuts the door.
I stare at him, slack-jawed, then roll my eyes. “Goddammit, Hunter,” I hiss under my breath, knowing my brother told him.
With my stomach tied in knots, my heart heavy and my blood on fire, I release the steering wheel and flex my stiff fingers.
There’s no use; I won’t be able to avoid Mitch, not in a small town like Oakwhite Bay.
But the last thing I need is Mitchell Adams showing up at my apartment, so I drive toward the inn, hating him more than I did yesterday.