Twenty-Eight #3
He does no such thing. Though his pulse thumps an erratic beat beneath my fingertips, his voice is utterly, off-puttingly calm as he stabs a finger at my ex. ‘Use that fucking tone when you’re talking about her again. I dare you.’
‘Enough.’ I lean back on my heels and try to tug that big, stupid body away. ‘Jesus. What is wrong with you?’
‘I didn’t start it.’
‘Yeah, of course you didn’t,’ Ben scoffs. ‘The perfect little prince has never done anything wrong in his life.’
‘Shut up, Ben.’
‘Go fuck yourself, Daniela.’
One minute, I have Heath in my grasp.
The next, he’s carefully peeled me off of him and not-so-carefully pinned Ben to the wall, damn near frothing at the mouth. ‘What did I just say?’
‘Oh my God.’ I rush to his side and grab him with both hands this time, ten fingers curled around one bicep. ‘This is pathetic. Stop it.’
‘You didn’t hear what he was saying about you.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I’ve heard it before.’ I grip him tight enough to disrupt his tan with bruising imprints, and he doesn’t even flinch. ‘Enough. I’m serious.’
He doesn’t budge.
‘Heath.’ I tug again, putting my whole damn body weight into it, putting my whole damn irritation into my tone. ‘Come on. You’re making me nauseous. This is literally the most unattractive thing I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life.’
That, of all fucking things, actually causes him pause. Earns me some squinted side-eye. ‘Nauseous?’
‘The whole cavemen thing really does not do it for me.’
A choked, snarky noise sounds from Tweedle-fucking-dee. ‘Nobody ask her what does.’
Those eyes flash, a muscle in that tattooed neck jumps, that shorn head starts to turn.
Pinching that strong, dimpled chin between my thumb and forefinger, I keep his gaze on me. ‘Seriously. I’m gagging. This is disgusting.’
‘Oh, I’m disgusting?’
‘Exactly.’ I give his chin a squeeze before coasting my grip lower, down the arm not currently holding my ex at bay.
Hesitantly, I unfurl his clenched fingers – even more hesitant, I lace them with my own.
‘That’s the root of the issue here. You are so disgusting and you really shouldn’t be in public, so let’s go. ’
For a long, breathless second, he simply stares at me.
Acts like we don’t have an audience straight out of my nightmares, like my ex isn’t struggling against his grip, spitting insults.
His gaze is leisurely, like he has all the damn time in the world, and only when he apparently gets his fill does he deign to nod sharply.
Relief leaves me with a deep exhale as the veins in his forearms stop bulging quite so prominently, as he lessens the weight on Ben’s chest. He doesn’t entirely retreat, though – he holds him firmly in place, and I wait impatiently as he leans in to murmur something inaudible in my ex’s ear – sweet nothings?
Death threats? An explicit rendition of how not nauseous I’ve found him in the past?
I don’t know. I just know that he’s smirking when he backs up. Ben harrumphs and shakes himself out, big mouth opening to spew something else delightful, I’m sure, but I don’t stick around to find out – or, rather, Heath doesn’t let us stick around.
The tables turn, he’s suddenly the one dragging me away, he’s gripping me tightly, I feel like I’m the one fleeing the scene of a crime. ‘I didn’t mean to drag you into this,’ he says quietly, his apologetic cringe quite the contrast to the vitriol my ex is throwing in our wake. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Am I okay?’ I scoff, stabbing repeatedly at the call button of the slowest fucking elevator in the world. ‘Are you okay? Like, in the head? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you even up here? Why are you looking at me like that?’
He blinks, but that dreamy look in his eyes goes nowhere. Dreamy. I’m screaming at him, and he’s dreamy.
‘Are you high or something?’
‘No, baby. Just looking at you.’
‘Well, stop it.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Jesus.’ Rolling my eyes, I cover his with my hand. Long lashes only tickle my palm for a split second before he catches me by the wrist, kissing the curve of my thumb as he peels it away.
As my heart swells, I snatch my hand away. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Sorry.’ He flexes his fingers before tucking them in his pocket. ‘Dani, can we—’
‘No. We can’t do anything because I’m going to bed, and so are you, and I swear to fucking God, if you don’t .
. .’ I leave the threat open-ended, up to his imagination, mostly because the elevator finally dings and I just want to get the hell out of here.
The second the doors open, I step inside, half-turning to snap at that dreamy fucking bastard to do the same thing.
It happens so fast. I barely have the time to form a scowl at the sight of Ben rushing up behind Heath. Certainly don’t have time to holler a warning before the former plants two hands on the latter’s back and shoves.
There definitely isn’t time to brace myself when a tall, hard body collides with me. Or to right myself so that my shoulder, the one I twinged over the holidays, doesn’t slam into the mirrored elevator wall hard enough for it to crack.
For me to crack. An audible, painful crack.
Fuck.