7. Chapter 7 #2
I stop in front of him. “Was it you?”
“Good to see you too, snowflake.” He lifts a brow.
That nickname does what it always does. It sends a little spark, which I kill before it reaches its destination.
“Outside my house,” I say. “Was it you?”
Instead of answering, he takes another sip of water.
God, he is infuriating.
“Answer the question.” I keep my voice low. I step closer, dropping it even more so no one drifting past the kitchen hears a word of this. “Was it you outside my house?”
“You really cannot stop coming to me.” His lips shift into something amused by the question.
I exhale once through my nose so I don’t say something loud enough to bring Jessica or Dom or, God forbid, my father in here.
“I saw that car outside my house,” I say, low and sharp. “I’m asking you directly whether it was you.”
“Why are you so upset?” He twists the cap back onto the bottle.
I stare at him like he’s lost his mind.
“Why I’m upset?” I let out a tiny, disbelieving breath. “Because any person being stalked would be upset.”
“Stalked?” His brows lift, giving me a look.
“Yes.”
“Seems like you already have your answer.” He shrugs his broad shoulders.
“Although, you’re speaking awful quiet for somebody who thinks she’s being stalked.”
I blink at him. He sets the water bottle on the counter and pushes off it, coming one slow step closer. I suck in a breath, my body already bracing for the effect he has on it.
“If you really believe I followed you home,” he says, voice lower now, “why are you whispering to me about it?”
“I’m not...” I shake my head, confused.
“Why not sound the alarm?” Another step, enough to make me straighten instinctively. “Or go tell daddy?” His gaze drops briefly to my mouth and back up. “Why come to me again, Lilly?”
“Discretion. Ever heard of it? Plus, I don’t want—” I force air into my lungs and stop.
I don’t want what? People to know? And why not, exactly?
His eyes stay on mine. He knows he has me. He waits. Again with the waiting. Again with making me fill the silence until I end up giving him more than I mean to.
“How did you find my address?” I grab the question that matters most.
“I’m resourceful.”
And there it is. The confirmation I need and no attempt to go around it.
I stare at him in disbelief. I don’t know what I did to make him this interested in me. I don’t know when exactly this crossed from a man getting under my skin into something that should send me running in the opposite direction.
No one has ever been this interested in me. No one has ever done something this crazy because of me.
“You can’t be serious,” I whisper, shaking my head.
Nothing. He says nothing. All that size and stillness and those pale eyes fixed on my face while I throw more at him.
“Do you hear yourself?” I ask. “You found my address somehow and sat outside my house.”
He finally looks away, nodding his head in agreement, then looks back at me.
“You want me to take you to the police?” The question is so calm that, for a second, I think I misheard it.
“What?”
“To file a report.”
I can’t believe him. I actually cannot believe how casually he says it, like we’re discussing a ride to the grocery store and not the fact that he just admitted he knows where I live.
“This is not a joke.”
“Am I laughing?” His gaze drifts once over my face, reading too much as always. “I think if you were as scandalized as you’re trying to sound,” he says, “you wouldn’t be standing this close to me.”
It’s true. I’m close enough now that I can smell the clean soap and whatever dark, expensive thing is clinging to him underneath it. The whole villa is still moving around us. Camp going on as if my entire world hasn’t just tilted sideways in a kitchen.
“I’m not playing your games.” I keep my voice low through sheer force.
“And yet, you keep coming to me, Lilly.”
Again, he’s right. Every confrontation like this starts with me walking up to him. That doesn’t make any of this okay.
“What do you want from me?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
He takes one slow step closer, and this time I have nowhere to go.
“More than you’re currently willing to give me,” he says quietly.
Heat flashes through me, and I press my thighs together to contain the pulse between my legs.
I shake my head once, furious and overheated and suddenly too aware of the kitchen counter at my back and the fact that I have nowhere to go.
Before I can answer, footsteps hit the hardwood near us.
One of the male counselors walks in halfway. “Oh, Lilly, hey, I was looki—” He trails off the second Zed turns his head toward him.
The guy freezes, glances between us, and lets out the most awkward little laugh. “Sorry. Am I interrupting something?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Zed and I answer at the exact same time.
I turn my head toward him.
The counselor blinks.
“Right. Okay. It can wait.” He laughs, waving a hand as he backs out of the room.
The second he’s gone, I shake my head, pressing my eyes closed for a second, trying to gather what’s left of my sanity. When I open them again, I put my hand out in front of me, palm toward Zed, keeping him at a distance.
“You have an astonishing relationship with boundaries, Mr. Mercer,” I say, forcing myself to hold his gaze with my head tilted back.
He glances around the kitchen, almost lazily, then back at me.
“Maybe,” he says, voice low, “you just need to get to know me.”
I stare at him. The absolute nerve of this man. A short, disbelieving laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
“I know enough. Two Cups at thirty, the youngest goalie with that achievement, which I guess gave you the impression that you can do whatever the hell you want.”
“Lilly,” he says, dragging my name out slow.
A sharp smile curves his full lips. Whatever reaction I just gave him, he liked it. I can see it all over his stupidly attractive face.
Why is he smirking? I just went off on him. And damn him, he’s beautiful. He nods slowly, his tongue dragging once along his bottom lip, as though I’ve just confirmed something to his satisfaction.
“What?” I ask with a shake of my head.
“I never told you any of this.”
My brows dip, and my eyes scan his face for the reason why that’s relevant.
I’m not sure where he’s going. Another beat passes as his eyes stay fixed on mine, almost willing me to see the punchline.
And suddenly, I do. My face drops and my cheeks heat at the realization.
I know exactly what he’s done. He just made me admit that I’ve looked him up.
After Nora googled him, she spent five minutes reading his Wikipedia page. I let my eyes skim details I had no business reading. Because I wanted to know, and it was harmless enough. And now he’s standing in front of me making those harmless little facts feel like confessions.
“I didn’t—” I try to recover and fail. “People talk. I overheard things.”
Two fingers slide under my chin. It’s barely a touch, but my entire body lights up anyway, heat pooling low. He tilts my face up just enough to hold my eyes fully.
“Playing clueless doesn’t suit you.”
Every nerve in my body is lit up and wanting. Wanting what, exactly, I refuse to examine too closely because I already know the answer is standing right in front of me.
I jerk my chin out of his hand. If I leave it there another second, I’ll start thinking with the part of me that’s already gone stupid in his presence. He feels like the beginning of an addiction I should be smart enough not to feed.
That’s the problem, isn’t it?
He’s right to notice it.
Why am I still here if I’m so horrified?
Why am I still talking to him?
I scramble for the first weapon I can find.
“Likewise,” I say, folding my arms, skin still tingling from where he touched my chin. I point through the window toward the grounds, where the kids are still everywhere.
“If you gave half a damn about the Academy, maybe you’d prove me wrong.”
It feels foreign, talking to someone like this, but I keep going because I need something to push him back.
“Dom and the others care. That’s why they’re here.
You’re here for all the wrong reasons. Can you even name one of them out there?
Or do you just write checks to make yourself feel better for being a shitty person?
” The words taste bad coming out. I’m not built for insults.
I regret it but remind myself of what he did to push me to this point.
The silence that follows is immediate and strange. Judging by the change in his expression, I think I’ve hit something. I just don’t know what.
He steps around me without a word. For one confused second, I think he’s walking away. Then he stops behind me, close enough that heat gathers against my back without actually touching.
I’m trapped against him, and my core develops its own frantic pulse. Electric and throbbing. One massive, tattooed arm reaches past my shoulder.
Oh, God.
He lowers his mouth to my ear, breath hot against my skin, and points a finger outside, toward a curly-haired boy running laps around a deck chair.
“Mason,” he bites out against my ear, then his finger moves. “Red shirt. Jonah.”