11. Ivory
This whole thing had been a terrible idea.
She could deny their history, block out the warm fuzzy memories of walking down dark October streets, but couldn’t change how his presence called to her as he stepped through the door. How he wove into her mind without even speaking, the bitter tang of cigarettes prickling her nose.
Despite that, she had tried really, really hard to act normal.
She kept herself from constantly staring and hadn’t been overly curious while they conversed. Didn’t even ask why his hand was bleeding. Again. All she wanted was for him to take care of himself—something she wished equally for everyone she cared about. It wasn’t because he was special.
Then he had to pull the ultimate trump card, that sexy thing men do where they’re too lazy to use both hands yet talented enough to take off their shirt in one flawless motion. It made her want to slap him, and then maybe he’d bend her over his knee and teach her better.
Even when he called her out, riled her up, and amplified every bothersome feeling she’d ever felt towards him, she’d kept her focus. If she had to clean his knuckles herself, then so be it, but she wasn’t going to let it go. For the principle of the matter.
She didn’t like being mean. She didn’t want him to think she was mean—did he? Wouldn’t it have been meaner not to say anything?
“Pretend I’m Jace and tell me to fuck off,” he prompted as she cleaned his wounds. His voice was firm, barely above a whisper.
The fabric of his black jeans rubbed softly against her arm, and a scent under the layer of smoke caught her attention—a smooth, rich aroma that reminded her of cinnamon and nutmeg. She couldn’t look up from his knuckles, away from the rough, scraped skin, to see how his eyes would search hers. To let their golden stare take her breath away.
The fact that she hadn’t hyperventilated at being this close and touching him so casually had been a miracle.
“Say it for me,” Adrian repeated.
The words grated against her conscience, and she pressed on the alcohol wipe. Jace was the last person she wanted to think about. Sure, she could say exactly how pathetic and despicable he was in her thoughts, but to his face? With real words?
“I don’t think I could ever pretend you were Jace.” She sighed, glancing up. Adrian looked back with an unreadable expression. Besides, she didn’t want him to see her like that. He wasn’t the one who deserved it. “But I think you’re right. Jace might get the hint if I was more firm.”
So far, ignoring Jace had not equated to Jace ignoring her, but beating him up as her black knight did was out of the question. She’d have to learn to hold her own in some other way.
“Then start with something else,” Adrian said as his fingers absently slid against her arm, “I pissed you off earlier, so give me a piece of your mind. Don’t hold back.”
The invitation sunk in as she inspected his wounds one last time. Up close, a small collection of scratches was visible on the surface of his rings—unpolished, opposite to the chrome accents on his bike.
How could he cherish one so much and the other so little?
She pulled away to throw the cotton into the trash and zipped up the first aid kit. Holding her breath, she tried not to linger on the trail of dark hair leading down his navel or how it disappeared under the snug fit of his leather belt.
“Can I just say the cuss word and phrase it differently?” she asked. “You won’t take me seriously?”
“If that will help you stand up to Jace.”
The first time she’d heard Adrian swear popped into her head. Don’t waste your time on me, sweetheart. All you’d be to me is something to fuck.
She could do this. She could replicate his unfeigned attitude. Firm, but not overly abrasive. Squaring her shoulders, she put on a brave face and looked him straight in the eye.
“Fuck me.”
As soon as the phrase left her lips, he froze. Oh no. This was bad.
Very bad.
Her heart hammered out of control like a terrified rabbit.
“I’m sorry, it was the first thing that came to mind,” she whispered in a rush. The words only served to bounce around the bathroom walls and condemn her more. “I said it without thinking.”
She hung her head as heat rose over every inch of her skin. Adrian’s legs shifted in her peripheral vision. “I tried to not say please at the end if that helps,” she squeaked.
Adrian cleared his throat. The deep hum resonated in her chest, and her thighs squeezed together.
“You did great, sweetheart.” His voice dropped dangerously, deliciously low. Like a warning wrapped up in the shining foil of praise.
There was no way she could ever look at him again.
Ever.
He reached out to touch her shoulder and squeezed lightly, encouraging her to look up. Responding to the gentle touch, she lifted her eyes and straightened her spine, even though the confident position felt unfamiliar. He hadn’t laughed or tried to demean her, but the truth had become painfully obvious.
She was weak. The moment she tried to pretend otherwise, her fa?ade cracked. That’s exactly why Jace knew he could toy with her—she’d practically told him as much—and by now, Adrian must have caught on, too.
“Your words carry more value than you think, Iv.” He smiled. “No need to apologize for them.”
The darkness encroaching on her vision vanished, and her breath hitched at the new nickname. Her name—from his lips. She wanted to hear him say it over and over.
“Now all you have to do is replace me with off ,” he instructed, back to being serious as he removed his hand.
She immediately mourned the loss of his touch and broke into a breathless laugh. “It does change the message quite a lot, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t look amused. “You don’t have to say it like I did, but you need Jace to know you won’t back down.”
“I want to say it.” Taking a deep breath, she cleared her mind. Then forced out the phrase. “Fuck off.”
Adrian stared at her, and for a second, she thought he’d been offended for real. Maybe she’d been too harsh—
He broke out in a chuckle, a soft one that filled the room, but it irritated her nonetheless. Her previous exclamation hadn’t made him laugh, but that did?
“Say it like you did the first time,” he said, lips turned into a breathtaking smile.
“How did I say it the first time?”
“Like you meant it.”
Oh.
Okay.
Pushing down another wave of insecurity, she summoned her best version of dark-witch energy and tried to remember how the phrase sounded when he’d said them. The confidence he reigned in so effortlessly.
“Fuck off.”
On the second try, it came out firm, less of a plea and more like a command. The difference sounded clear to her, but the sight of Adrian’s look of approval eclipsed her own pride.
“There it is,” he praised. “Good girl.”
Her insides turned into a puddle. Great. So much for keeping her cool. How could she go from mean to melted with two words?
“Let’s get back to the party, shall we?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She nodded, grateful he didn’t seem to notice how his words had left her dazed.
She stood, and he pulled the shirt back over his head, the fabric stretching over his form in a way that only incapacitated her more. A part of her felt bad for how pushy she’d been, but she couldn’t regret helping him. Or their conversation. Or getting close to him in general.
She felt a million times lighter, actually. Looking away, she mumbled, “Thanks for letting me patch you up.”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”
Raising her chin, she brushed off the swarm of butterflies in her belly and walked back into the living room, where the video game’s music had been on a loop for longer than usual. The screen had been paused on the results of the last match, and Nia and Caspian were curled up together on one end of the couch, whispering about something she was sure she didn’t want to hear.
Behind her, Adrian cleared his throat. “I was lured here under the premise of cake, was I not?”