The bathroom here is multiple stalls. Single stall, I could follow her inside, but not multiple stalls. Crossing the corridor, I make a snap decision and catch her by the arm.
She gasps and whirls around to see who is accosting her. Her face freezes when she sees it’s me. I drag her into the shadows with me, planting her back against the wall. There’s a huge potted tree on this corner, so even on the off chance Raf
e comes to investigate when he realizes I’m not at the table, he won’t see us right away.
I’m not sure how to explain myself just now. Telling her the truth—that I just wanted to make sure she was okay—wouldn’t make much fucking sense, but my mind is blanking for lies.
Turns out, I don’t have to concoct a reason. Laurel doesn’t demand to know what the hell I’m doing accosting her in the halls or pushing her against the wall and standing so close. Her big blue eyes look up at me, so vulnerable, so full of confusion and hurt, but there’s something else. It’s the something else that’s the problem. This girl should hate me, full stop, no exceptions. She should hate my guts. She should want to see me ripped open and disemboweled for using her the way I did.
The way she thinks I did, at least.
The way I meant to, I guess.
Joke’s on me this time. Got tangled up in my own damn web.
She doesn’t speak, and I don’t either. For all the fire and spunk she had toward Rafe back at the table, I still see obedience in her eyes for me. As if no time has passed, no lamps were thrown, no cruel words delivered, Laurel gazes up at me like she belongs to me. I’m half tempted to tell her to drop to her knees just to see if she’ll still do it.
I’m haunted enough by that mental image though, so I don’t.
Being this close makes me want to get closer. I want to feel her body fitted snugly against mine. It’s the last thing I should do, but since I have her pressed against this wall here, I go ahead and push my luck. I take a step forward until I can feel her tits smashed against my chest. Laurel inhales sharply, but instead of telling me to get off her, she touches my sides, then snakes her arms around my back and pulls me even closer.
She hugs me.
His fucking cologne still hangs on her from just a moment ago and my jaw locks. I want to chain her little ass up in my shower and clean every last bit of him off her. Definitely can’t do that. I shouldn’t even be touching her, but the way she clings to me, she seems to be the one who needs it most. Wordlessly, she buries her face in my chest and holds me close. I don’t hug her back because I can’t. Because I can hear the sounds of her crying into my shirt, and that alone is turning me to stone.
Maybe I made a fucking mistake. The thought flashes across my mind—not for the first time, but this is the first time I’ve felt the weight of it. Before this, I felt like I made a mistake because I missed her. Because I could still smell her on the pillow next to mine, because I woke up after she haunted my dreams all night with a hard cock and no pretty little mouth to put it in.
But now she’s crying into my chest, and I don’t know why. All I want to do is obliterate everything that makes her sad, but I can’t because it’s probably me.
I can’t hug her back because my hands are tied right now. I gave her back to him. I can’t tell Rafe I changed my mind. He thinks he won. He took her public. Even if the embarrassment pisses him off more than losing Laurel would, he’s not going to let me take her back now. I crossed the line when I took her the first time. I held that fucking line and didn’t back down from it, but I can’t just take her back and say, “Sorry, I thought I was done with her but I’m not. I’ll find you another one.”
Laurel pulls herself together after a minute. She pulls back, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “Sorry,” she murmurs.
“Why are you crying?” I ask her.
Her bottom lip quivers and her big blue eyes fill up with tears again. “I wanna go home.”
“This is your home now,” I tell her.
“No, it’s not,” she says, shaking her head. “I hate it here.”
“Did Rafe do something?”
He better fucking not have. I don’t care if he’s the king of this fucking city—kings have been toppled before. I helped him take his power, and I could help take it away from him, too. Wouldn’t earn me a whole hell of a lot of loyalty points, depending on who I push, but I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind a time or two since Laurel happened.
Much to my relief, she shakes her head, not looking at me. “It’s not him.”
“Then what is it?”
She’s quiet for the longest stretch, then she meets my gaze and holds it. “I miss you.”
I damn sure shouldn’t take her small, soft hand in mine, but I do anyway. “I’m standing right here, aren’t I?”
“You know what I mean,” she says, glancing down at her hand in mine. “I don’t want to avoid your gaze and… I don’t want it to be like this. You still owe me Chinese food.”
I crack a smile. “Always thinking about your next meal, aren’t you?”
“I know I should hate you,” she says, looking up at me again. “I should. But I can’t.”