He splays a hand over his heart and cocks his head as he says, “Well thank you, beautiful, I aim for ‘not bad.’” This time I’m the one laughing, a short, soft snicker as I kick the bottom of my heels against the ground and stare at them for a moment, readying myself to say goodbye and end his bout of teasing. I don’t trust myself not to say anything and instead I just wave and carry on, expecting him to do the same.
“You didn’t answer me,” he calls out after I take a few steps. “What are you doing out here so late?” he asks. It’s forward of him and I usually despise that, but instead I savor the challenge in his voice. Something about it tells me he thinks I’m already his. And that ownership makes my blood that much hotter.
I know I shouldn’t give him any information at all, but I find myself telling him the truth before I can stop myself. “I’m hungry and overworked. So I stopped to grab a bite to eat.”
“You’re getting your dinner from here?” he asks, gesturing to the store and I nod. “A woman like you should be taken out, not eating dinner from the gas station.”
A woman like you plays over and over in my head. He doesn’t know what type of woman I am. “You don’t even know my name,” I say, the half smile and challenge firm on my expression.
He nods and grins, flashing me a cocky smile as he replies, “Don’t make me guess.”
I chew on my lip for a moment, rocking from side to side. He’s bad news and I’m flirting with fire … but I love the thrill. I can’t deny it. “It’s Kat,” I tell him and a smile is slow to form on his face. One of complete satisfaction, as if hearing my name is the best thing that’s happened to him all night.
“I’m Evan,” he says and I taste his name on the tip of my tongue, nearly whispering it. “Let me take you to dinner, Kat,” he suggests with an easiness I don’t like. I wonder how many times that’s worked for him before.
“I’m not your type,” I respond, intentionally looking past him at the bars that wrap around the glass door to the convenience store. I just need a late-night snack to hold me over till morning. That’s all this little errand was supposed to turn into.
“I don’t think you should tell me what is and isn’t my type.” Although it comes out playful, there’s a hint of admonishment, and my naïve little heart doesn’t like that. “You might be surprised,” he adds.
I clear my throat and try to breathe evenly, wanting this flirting session to end so I can get back to work. I have to admit the attention is very much appreciated, though. And the desire in his eyes looks genuine.
“Sorry, Charlie, didn’t mean to upset you,” I tell him with a playful pout as I walk past him.
“It’s Evan,” he says, repeating his name and that makes a wicked grin play at my lips, “and you’re wrong.” The last part is spoken with a seriousness I wasn’t expecting. His tone is hard and when I turn around to face him fully, finally taking a step onto the curb, he’s no longer leaning on the hood of the Mercedes. He takes a few strides across the asphalt parking lot and stops in front of me as I ask, “Wrong about what?”
Up close he’s taller than I first thought, more intimidating too and his shoulders seem broader, stronger. Even his subtle moves as he brushes his jaw with his rough fingers and licks his lower lip again, are dominating. He glances to the left and right before opening his mouth again and letting that deep, rough voice practically ignite the air between us.
“You’re wrong that you aren’t my type and that I’m not your type.”
The compliment makes my body feel hotter than it already is in the hot summer night. Someone behind me exits the store, the telltale jingle of the bells and the whoosh of air-conditioning reminding me that I’m supposed to be in and out of this store. Reminding me that Evan isn’t a part of my to-do list tonight.
“I never said you weren’t my type,” I say and my voice comes out sultry, laced with the desire I feel coursing in my blood. I try to hold his gaze, but the fire and intensity swirling in his dark eyes makes me back down.
I can try to be tough all I want, but he’s a bad boy through and through and I should know better.
“Good to know,” he says with a cocky undertone that makes my eyes whip up to his. I half expect him to blow me off now that his ego’s been fed. He licks his lower lip and my eyes are drawn to the motion, imagining how it’d feel to have his lips on every inch of my skin. “Come out with me tonight,” he says. As if I don’t have anything better to do. As if he can just command me to do what he wants.
“Sorry … Evan. I can’t tonight,” I tell him and turn back around, hiking my purse up higher on my shoulder, ready to go about my business.
“Tomorrow night then,” he says, raising his voice so I can hear him as I wrap my hand around the handle and pull the door open. Again the chill of the store greets me, but this time it’s unwanted.
I’m all too aware of what this man could do to me. He’s the type to pin you down as he takes you how he wants you and doesn’t stop until you’re screaming. And I can’t lie, just that thought alone makes me desperate to say yes.
He takes another step closer as I stand with the door wide open and hesitate to answer. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he manages a shrug as if it’s a casual question.
“Just one date,” he adds as he looks at me with a raised brow and his version of puppy dog eyes. It’s enough to force a smile on my face.
“And what am I supposed to do? Meet you here at ten?” I ask him.
“How about at Jean-Georges in Central Park?” he asks and I’m taken aback. It’s an expensive place and my eyes glance back to his car, to his ripped body and tattooed skin. There’s something about the air that follows him that screams he’s no good. The danger in the way he looks at me is so tempting, though.
“I just want to feed you,” he adds as the time ticks by slowly and a short, older man with salt-and-pepper hair walks out of the exit, stealing our attention and making my hand slip slightly on the handle.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. The answer is an easy one. No. Simple as that. He’s a bad boy who only wants one thing, but I can’t deny that I want it too.
I said yes.
To the date, and then again a year later to marrying him.
That initial yes, pushed through my lips by an undeniable attraction, was my first mistake on a list of too fucking many.
All because I can’t tell him no.
Evan
I try to shut the front door softly, as quietly as I can so I don’t wake up Kat if she’s passed out.
I know she told me not to come back. She says a lot of things and then apologizes and changes her mind. Silence isn’t better, though. It still hurts, just in a different way. Our loft is small and the walls are thin so you can hear everything in here. I stop in the foyer, setting down my duffle bag and luggage then toss the bunched-up chenille blanket that’s in a puddle on the floor onto the sofa in the living room.
The room is mostly gray, just like the city. There’s a paned glass mirror above the long sofa and black and white accents everywhere. I hated that mirror from the moment we got it, but Kat loved it so I never said a word. It belongs in some farmhouse up north, not in the heart of New York, the devil’s playground. But it made her smile. I’ll be damned if that isn’t reason enough to keep that cheap-ass mirror.
My eyes scan the room in the faint light from the city that’s shining through the gap in the curtains.
Five years of marriage, six of creating this place together.
Each piece of furniture is a memory. The wine rack that we purchased was the first thing we bought together. The gray sofa with removable pillows was a fight I lost. I didn’t want the cushions to be removable, because they always end up sagging, but Kat insisted the brand was quality.
The plush cushions still look like they did in the store, and I wonder if she was right or if it’s just because we don’t even sit on the damn thing. Maybe both but I lean toward the latter.
I’m never here and s
he’s always working. What’s the point of it?
The bitter thought makes me kick the duffle bag out of my way and head past the living room and dining room, straight to the stairs so I can get to bed and lie down with Kat. It’s been almost a week since I’ve slept in the same room as her and I refuse to let that go on for another night. I pause to look at the photos on the wall, the light streaming in leaving a sunbeam down the glass.
Almost all are in black and white, the way Kat likes her décor. All but one, the largest in the very center. It’s also the only one that’s not staged.
She’s leaning toward me, and her lips look so red as she’s mid-laugh, holding a crystal champagne flute and wrapping her fingers around my forearm. Her eyes are on whoever was giving a speech. I don’t remember who it was or what they said, but I can still hear her laugh. It’s the most beautiful sound.
She was so happy on our wedding day. I thought she’d be stressed and worried, but it was like a weight was lifted and the sweetest version of her was given to me that day. There’s nothing but love in the photo. No work, no bullshit, just the two of us telling the world we loved each other enough to stay together forever.
My eyes are on her in that picture, with a smile on my face and pride in my reflection.
I tear my gaze away and keep walking, feeling the weight of everything press down on my shoulders. I’m exhausted and like the childish fool I am, I wish I could just go to sleep and this would all be a dream. A huff of sarcasm accompanies my gentle footsteps up the stairs.
I want to go back to when we first got married. Before we both got caught up in work and started to live separate lives. Before I fucked up.
If only we could start over and go back to that day.
As I pass the open office door, I hear the clacking of the computer keyboard. So many nights I’ve come home to this, so many mornings I’ve woken up to it. She’s always in her office, which is a shame. There’s hardly any light, or anything at all in the room. File cabinets, papers, a shredder and a desk. There’s not a hint of the woman Kat is in this room.
I guess it’s the same as the living room, but at least a classic elegance is present there. It’s nothing but cold in here. If a to-do list could be made into décor, that’s what this cramped room resembles.
“Hey, babe,” I say softly and Kat ignores me. I clear my throat and speak louder. “I’m home,” I tell her and again, I get nothing from Kat, just the steady clicks. There’s an empty wineglass and two bottles on the floor by her feet.
Maybe she’s a little drunk, maybe she has her earplugs in too, but still, she’d hear me. Was it a long shot that she’d kindly accept me coming home? Yes. It’s not too much to ask for an acknowledgment, though. Even if she tells me to fuck off. I’d take it.
My teeth grind together as I grip the handle of the door harder. She deserves better. I know she does. This is exactly I deserve, but I don’t want it. I won’t go down without fighting for what I want.
The standing floor lamp in the corner of her office is on, but it’s not enough to brighten the room. Even the glow of the computer screen is visible.
“Do you want to talk?” I ask her and her only response is that her fingers stop moving across the keys.
She doesn’t turn to face me or give any sign that I’ve spoken to her. She heard it, though, and her gaze drops to the keyboard for a second too long not to give that away.
“I don’t want to fight, Kat,” I tell her and force every bit of emotion I’m feeling into my words. “I don’t want this between us.”
She turns slowly in her seat, a baggy T-shirt covering her slim body and ending at her upper thighs. Her exposed skin is pale and the dark room makes her look that much paler. Her viridian eyes give her away the most, though. Nothing but sadness stares back at me.
My body is pulled to her, and I can’t help it. I can’t stand that look in her eyes. Before I can tell her I love her and I’m sorry, before I can come up with some lame excuse, she cuts me off.
“I wanted to last night,” she says and then crosses her arms. She looks uncomfortable and unnatural. Like she’s doing what she thinks she should be doing, not what she wants. “When you texted me and then I texted you back. I was ready to talk then.”
“I’m here now,” I offer and walk closer to her, the floorboards creaking gently. There’s a set of chairs in the corner of the room from our first apartment and I almost drag one over, but I’m too afraid to break eye contact with her. It’s progress. I’ll be damned if I stop progress for a place to sit.
At least she’s looking at me, talking to me, receptive to what I have to say.
“Ask me whatever you want.” My voice is calm but deep down I’m screaming. Because I know I’ll answer her. I’ll tell her everything just to take that pain away, even if it’s only temporary, even if it fucks her too.
Her doe eyes widen slightly and she cowers back, swallowing before answering me. “Aren’t you tired?” she says softly and her eyes flicker to the door and then to the floor.
She doesn’t want to know the truth.
“Yeah, I’m exhausted. But I’m not going to bed until you do.” I lick my lips and clear my throat, hoping she’ll give in to me. For nearly the past year when I’m home, I’ve tried to stay up with her or brush off the fact that I’d pass out while she was still working and vice versa. Not tonight, not from this point forward. The advice my father gave me on our wedding night was to go to bed together. I should have listened. I’ll make it better, I can at least fix that.
“I can stay up for you,” I say, offering her the suggestion. It’s not what she wants, but it’s something.
“Well, this has to get done, and it’s going to take hours.”
“I can wait,” I tell her but the second the words slip out she turns back to the computer and says, “Don’t.”
With her back to me and her fingers already flying across the keys again, I’ve never felt more alone and crestfallen.
“I’ll go unpack and relax on the bed then,” I say as I grip the doorframe to stay upright and keep myself from ripping her out of that chair and bringing her to bed.
“Here?” Shock coats the single word.
It takes me a moment to realize why the hell she’s asking me that and when I do, it’s like a bullet to the chest.
A mix of emotions swell in my gut and heat my blood. Anger is there, but the dejectedness is what cuts me the most.
“Is that all right?” I ask sarcastically.
She nods, conceding to let me stay in my own damn house, but the look in her eyes doesn’t fade. She really wants me out. She wants me to just leave? Did she think I wouldn’t fight for her? That I’d let this destroy us? It may ruin me, but I’d rather chew on broken glass than let it ruin us.
“I said I don’t want a divorce.” My words come out hard. I’m sick of this. “I want you,” I tell her with conviction and walk closer to her, not leaving any space between us.
“I don’t know what I want,” Kat responds in a murmur, gripping the armrests of the desk chair as her lips form a painful frown and her eyes gloss over. Like she’s on the verge of breaking. The last thread that was holding her together has snapped, leaving her falling. I’m not there to catch her, because I’m the one that pushed her over the edge. I hate myself for it.
It’s my fault, and this is all on me, but I’ll make it right.
“You don’t have to, Kat,” I say, softening my voice and move just a little closer. I need a chance. She’s vulnerable; I can feel it coming off of her in waves. Give in to me, baby.
I cup her cheek in my hand to lean down and kiss her, but she pushes back, quickly standing and making the chair slam against the desk.
My pride, my ego, whatever it is that makes me a man, is destroyed in this moment. My limbs freeze and the tension makes me feel like I’m breaking. Literally cracking in my very center.
I lick my lips, finally letting out a breath as Kat whispers, “I’m sorry, I’m just ...”
She doesn’t finish, and I have to look up at her before I can stand upright again.
“You just what?”
“I don’t know, Evan,” she answers with desperation in her voice.
“Don’t think,” I tell her, grasping for anything to keep her from running. “Just let me make it better,” I offer and she stands there, in nothing but that T-shirt, and looks at me as if I’m both her savior and her enemy.
I walk slowly, each step making the floor groan in quiet protest. I don’t quicken my pace until I’m close enough to her to feel her heat. And she lets me, standing still and giving me the chance I need.
My lips crash against hers, my body molding to her small frame and forcing her back. For each step she takes, I take one with her.
“Stop,” she tells me and pushes me away. My breathing is ragged as my hands clench to keep from holding on to her as she leaves me. I can still taste her, my body ringing with desire to make it up to her.
To ease her pain and remind her how good I make her feel. It’s what she needs. It’s been weeks and I can’t deny I need her even more. I need to bury myself inside her warmth.
My grasp her hips and I push her back against the wall. Her arms wrap around my neck as she comes in for the kiss this time. Taking the passion from me, letting me give her what she needs. Comfort and an escape from reality. A welcome distraction to the fact that our marriage is at risk.
Right now there’s nothing but what we feel for each other. Nothing else. No logic or reason. Just the devotion and intense desire.
I’m grateful it still exists. I only wish this moment would last forever. Where we’re both weak for each other, desperate and drunk with lust.
“You’re mine, Kat,” I whisper against the shell of her ear. My breath is hot and it’s making the air between us that much hotter.
Her back arches against the wall and she pushes her soft curves into mine. A quiet moan spills from her sweet lips. I stare at her face, the expression of utter rapture with her eyes closed and her lips parted just slightly.
You Know I Love You: Book 1, You Know Me duet (You Are Mine 3) Page 6