A Girl Like Her (Ravenswood Book 1)

by Talia Hibbert

  Then Shirley patted his hand. “But here you are—a man he’s known five minutes—bringing me lasagne and letting me talk rubbish in your ear.” She eyed him closely. “You’re a good person, Evan Miller.”

  “I’m nothing special,” he said. “I just… I treat people how I’d want to be treated. And Zach’s a good guy.”

  “He is. I’m very proud of him.” A slight smile curved her lips, her eyes hovering towards the door. Then she turned their watery blue back to Evan. “And I’m pleased that he’s made a friend like you. Zach has been playing a certain role for far too long. He needs someone to help him get out of it.”

  Evan shifted. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “You’ll see.” She smiled. “You’re very caring. Caring people are observant.” Then, as suddenly as she’d taken it, Shirley released his hand. “Now, then,” she said brightly. “Never mind my nurse troubles. Have you found anyone interesting in our little corner of the world?”

  “Aside from you, you mean?” Evan winked.

  “Oh, stop it. I’m immune to your charms, Mr. Miller. You get yourself a nice young thing to run around with.”

  Evan’s mind flew to Ruth without hesitation. He wondered how she’d feel about the fact that, in his head, she was apparently a nice young thing.

  She’d probably push him in front of lorry.

  The thought, perversely, made him smile.

  Evan hadn’t come over on Monday.

  Which was fine. Microwaved Chicago Town pizzas had fed Ruth well, and they’d do the same tonight.

  She was trying her best to convince herself of this utter falsehood when she heard the familiar heave of 1B’s front door. It had already opened and shut once this evening, making her jump out of her skin, but Evan had not appeared.

  Now she held her breath and fiddled with her pizza box and tried to pretend that she wasn’t waiting for him to knock.

  He knocked.

  She, of course, dropped the pizza.

  When Ruth finally made it to the door, she found Evan waiting with two huge, steaming bowls instead of his trusty Pyrex dish.

  “Hi,” he said.

  She ignored his greeting and got to the point, nodding towards one of the bowls. “Is that for me?”

  “It is.” He smiled, and she ignored that too. Or rather, she ignored the hysterical flip it triggered in her tummy. How embarrassing.

  “What is it?” She asked.

  “Just Bolognese. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a very exciting cook.”

  Ruth didn’t bother to explain that she could not stand exciting food. “Is that one for you?”

  He looked over at the second bowl of pasta, his smile fading. “Yeah. Huh. I don’t know why I dragged it over here.”

  “What rubbish. You’re trying to worm your way back into my house.”

  He grinned. “Okay, I suppose I am.”

  “Well, come on.” Ruth knew very well that her voice was flat and that her face, according to most people, was blank.

  Internally, her nerves were a mess, like multiple pairs of earbuds shoved into the same coat pocket. She didn’t know where one feeling ended and the other began, or how to disentangle them; all she knew was that anxiety and hesitant pleasure and anticipation coiled around each other in her gut, and altogether, they made her feel slightly sick.

  In a good way. Kind of. She wasn’t sure.

  They sat down at her tiny kitchen table wordlessly, and she provided both cutlery and glasses of water. If he wanted anything else, he was shit out of luck. She didn’t have anything else.

  Except tea. She’d forgotten to offer him tea. Was it too late to mention? She wasn’t entirely sure. Once she managed to knock herself off the socially acceptable path, Ruth could never figure out how to climb back on again.

  “So,” Evan asked. “What do you do?”

  Was it worrying that she’d been hoping he’d seek her out? That he’d come over, and they’d spend time together again, as soon as humanly possible?

  Probably.

  “Ruth?” He said again.

  This time, the words penetrated, soaking into her brain like oil into muslin.

  “I… I produce a web comic,” she said, twisting pasta around her fork. She usually avoided this topic, but the words came out before she could think to control them.

  “A web comic?” A slow smile spread across his face. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  This should be a safe conversation. It was one of the topics on her list of Acceptable Things to Say: What do you do? Along with, Where are you from? and, How’s the family? If they’d met in the ordinary way, she’d have asked those things immediately instead of blathering on about nonsense.

  For some reason, with Evan, she didn’t feel as much pressure to use her list. She didn’t feel a need to waste energy on trying to seem acceptable—but she didn’t do her best to seem outrageous, either. On Saturday, their conversation had meandered from the ridiculous to the impossible and back again.

  She didn’t want to think about what that meant.

  Instead of chasing his comment about her work, she said, “What do you do?”

  He scooped up some Bolognese. “I’m a blacksmith. I work for Burne & Co.”

  Ruth almost choked on her pasta.

  Evan noticed, too. Of course he noticed. He’d already figured out that she was, in a word, clumsy, and now he watched her like a hawk. It had all started when she told him about burning her comic books. Or, as everyone else called it, setting the kitchen on fire.

  Now he pushed a glass of water towards her, clearly concerned. Ruth glared as she took a sip, the cool fluid soothing her raw throat. Glares were her most common expression of thanks.

  “You okay?” He asked.

  “Burne & Co., hm?” She shot back. She hadn’t meant to sound quite so bitter, quite so accusatory, but her tone was searing.

  She took another sip of water. Oops.

  Evan frowned. “Um… yeah. Why?”

  She ignored the question and studied his face, searching for the clues she must have missed. The sly judgement, the hidden disdain.

  She didn’t find anything incriminating, because she was rubbish at that sort of thing. Evan stared back at her, and all she gained from the uncomfortable eye contact was unwelcome arousal. He really was gorgeous. It was quite inconvenient.

  “That explains why you were with Daniel Burne,” she finally said. Clearly, she’d have to rely on words here.

  “Well, yeah,” he replied. “It’s not like I spend time with him voluntarily.”

  Ruth took a moment to digest that. “Hmph,” she grunted, aware that she sounded like a grumpy old woman. To move the conversation on, she added, “So you’re a blacksmith. Is that what you did in the army?”

  His brows flew up. Mission accomplished. “How’d you know I was in the army?” He asked.

  The truth was that she’d stalked his social media through her friend Marjaana’s account—since Ruth didn’t have Facebook. But that would sound incredibly odd, so she lied. “It was your speech about Captain America on Saturday. You’re a complete fanboy.”

  Evan smirked. “That doesn’t mean I was in the army.”

  “There’s honestly no other reason for anyone to like Captain America.” Which was true. “Unless you think he’s hot.”

  “Well, I don’t think he’s hot.”

  “He kind of looks like you.”

  Evan’s eyes lit up. “Do you think he’s hot?”

  Ruth froze, her fork halfway on its journey to her mouth. “I…” Her mind rushed to process what, exactly, had just happened. It failed, probably because it was trying so hard. So she blurted out, “Yes. I do.”

  For a moment, Evan’s eyes seemed to darken. He leaned forward, and Ruth licked her lips. She was suddenly hyper-conscious of her breathing—or rather, the rise and fall of her own chest.

  Which was a bad sign.

  But then, just as quickly, the crackling tension in Evan’s
eyes seemed to fade. He sat back in his chair and said, “Well, you’re right. I was in the army. But that’s not why I like Captain America.”

  Relief flooding her, Ruth stuffed a mouthful of pasta into her gob and mumbled, “Why then?”

  Evan put down his fork, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know. He seems very… noble. Is that the right word?”

  “He’s an annoying do-gooder.”

  “You’re a very harsh woman.” He said it almost… fondly. A smile tilted his lips.

  Ruth reminded herself that harsh women were not to anyone’s taste and took another bite of pasta.

  Chapter Nine

  When they were done, Ruth grabbed the plates and took them both to the sink. She turned the taps on as high as they’d go, and watched the water rise over the dirty dishes, and tried to convince herself that she could not feel Evan staring at her.

  That would be ridiculous.

  To prove it, she took a peek over her shoulder at him. Just a little one, she told herself, to quiet her rambling mind. To prove to herself that, just because he was awfully attractive and funny and sweet, and he seemed to like spending time with her, didn’t mean this was a… thing.

  She found him lounging in her tiny kitchen chair, watching her with almost painful intensity.

  Oh.

  When he arched a brow, his lips curving slowly into a smile, Ruth realised that her little peek had become a very long look. Her cheeks heating, she turned back to the sink.

  Step one of washing dishes: water. What was step two, again? She couldn’t remember. Every time she tried to get her mind in order, she was assaulted with images of Evan. Evan’s long legs spread wide, his thighs straining beneath his jeans, tattooed arms folded over his chest. Right behind her. Shit.

  “The way you look at me sometimes,” he said. His voice was low. She shouldn’t have heard him over the running taps, and yet the deep rumble seemed to vibrate in her belly.

  And between her legs.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, turning off the stream of water.

  “Really?” There was something in his voice that might’ve been humour if it hadn’t been so heavy. “The day we met, you looked at me like you’d never seen a man before.”

  Because I’d never seen a man like you. “That was shock, actually. You know, because I fell.” She was impressed with the steadiness of her own voice. Her own, lying voice.

  “And Saturday?”

  Ruth swallowed. “I don’t know why you’re fishing for compliments. You must know that, objectively speaking, you’re very attractive.”

  She heard the scrape of chair legs against lino, heard his familiar tread as he crossed the narrow space. “Maybe. But I’m trying to figure out your opinion on the matter.”

  She knew, somehow, that he would touch her.

  When he did, it was better than she’d expected.

  His chest pressed firmly against her back, the heat of his body surrounding her. He put his hands against the counter in front of them, bracketing Ruth with hard, warm muscle. “You see,” he said, his tone conversational, “sometimes I think I can read you. Then something happens, and I realise I can’t. Not completely. Not yet.”

  Ruth shivered.

  He leaned in even closer, bending down until his mouth brushed her ear. “So why don’t you tell me, Ruth? Tell me what’s going on inside your head.”

  She couldn’t speak. She also couldn’t help herself. Ruth raised a hand, reached back until her fingers slid into his hair, felt the curve of his skull. Pulled him closer, and wondered what the fuck she was doing.

  Then she let her head fall to the side, exposing the line of her neck. A moment later, she felt his breath whisper over the sensitive skin of her throat.

  Ah. That’s what she was doing.

  Oh, dear.

  Evan kissed her neck, his mouth soft and hot and everything she’d ever needed. Ruth’s knees might have buckled if she hadn’t been ready, completely ready, to feel this level of ecstasy at his touch.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m usually much better than this.” His hands came to rest on her hips, sliding under the hem of her pyjama top.

  “Better?” She echoed faintly. His fingers traced circles over the sensitive skin of her belly, and she moaned. Heat flooded her pussy, zipped up to her nipples.

  “Better at controlling myself.” His tongue slid over her pulse, and then, lightly, he bit. “I don’t know what I’m doing. We barely know each other.”

  Ruth arched against him, pressure building deep inside her core. “You’ve never slept with someone you barely know?”

  “No. I couldn’t sleep with you yet. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly.”

  Of all those nonsensical words, yet was the one that caught her attention.

  It had never occurred to her, while she was drooling over his unreasonable hotness, that he might somehow find her attractive. Why had that never occurred to her?

  “They all think you’re ugly. But I know you’re beautiful, Ruth.”

  She pushed the memory away. It wasn’t even hard. Not when one of Evan’s hands slid away from her hips, down towards the apex of her thighs. His palm flattened against her cotton-covered mound, and he pushed her more firmly against him.

  The thick column of his erection pressed into her lower back.

  “Jesus, Evan,” she breathed. At the feel of that insistent length, a pulse of energy rocketed to her clit. Her stomach tightened. She hadn’t felt like this in so long. She hadn’t deserved it. She wasn’t sure if she deserved it now.

  He laughed, but it wasn’t a laugh she recognised. It was low and dark and sent a thrill up her spine. “Do you like this, love?” He pressed the heel of his palm against her clit, the pressure delicious even through her clothes. “Tell me.”

  Ah.

  Just like that, the blazing purity of pleasure drained away. The reality of who Ruth was—how Ruth was—crushed her the way pianos crush cartoon characters. She was still breathing, somehow, but she shouldn’t have been.

  Ruth absolutely could not tell him anything. Anything at all.

  Swallowing down her sudden panic, Ruth said, “We should stop.”

  In a breath, he went from surrounding her to disappearing. She felt suddenly cold, suddenly alone, without his arms around her.

  But that, she reminded herself, was the safest way to feel.

  “Are you okay?” Evan asked softly.

  Hesitant, she turned to face him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lips parted. Beautiful. Still, she saw apology written over his face. He folded his hands in front of his waist, and she wondered if he meant to hide the bulge straining against his jeans or draw attention to it.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  Ruth didn’t know what to say to that.

  After a pause, he said, “I’m… I’m sorry, Ruth.”

  “You don’t need to be sorry—”

  “But I am. I shouldn’t have done that.” He cleared his throat. His posture was perfect as ever, almost painfully stiff.

  Almost, her mind thought feverishly, as stiff as his—

  “I didn’t come over here to… to harass you,” he said. “I just wanted to see you. I hope you believe that.”

  She licked her lips and nodded. She had no idea what, exactly, was happening here, but it seemed polite to let him finish.

  “I very much enjoy spending time with you,” he said. “I hope you might consider me a friend.”

  “I do.”

  That, at least, drew the ghost of a smile from his lips. “Good,” he said, almost to himself. “Good. I… I’d understand if you didn’t want me to come over anymore.”

  “But I do,” she said firmly. “I do want you to come over.”

  She should be grateful, really. This was perfect. Beyond perfect. He was saying all the things that should be coming out of her mouth, as if following a script. So why did she feel childishly d
isappointed?

  His gaze was intense. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she practically cried. “I’m sure.”

  “Okay.” He gave her a short nod. “Well… I’ll be going, then.”

  “Alright.”

  “Alright.”

  For a second they stared at each other across the kitchen. She could still feel the rasp of his fingertips against her belly, could still feel the pressure of his palm against her clit. She tried to make herself forget—she was good at forgetting—but found that she could not.

  When he finally walked out of the kitchen, she sagged against the counter in relief.

  And when he came over the next day, and the next, she told herself that talking and joking and never, ever touching was absolutely fine.

  Chapter Ten

  Evan! You going out?”

  Yes. To avoid you.

  Evan pulled his face into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but at least didn’t feel like a scowl. Then he turned to Daniel Burne and said, “Yep.”

  “I’ll join you.” Daniel fell into step with Evan as they pushed out of the forge’s double doors. “Need to pick up some fags.”

  Great. So they’d head to the newsagents together and make stiff, forced conversation that made Evan want to stab himself in the gut.

  Usually, he liked to talk. Just not with Daniel Burne.

  “So,” Daniel began.

  That short, sharp word was all it took to set Evan on his guard. He shot a glance over at Daniel and found the other man a picture of calm, looking straight ahead, nodding politely to passers-by.

  “So,” Evan echoed.

  “You meet your neighbour?”

  Evan clenched his jaw. He remembered the way Ruth had felt against him three days ago and said, “Yeah. I met my neighbour.”

  Daniel was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Nice guy?”

  Evan sighed. “Do you think you’re being subtle?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You want to know if Ruth is my neighbour. Just ask.”