TOO LATE : CHAPTER 11 – 20
Chapter 13
SLOAN POV CONTINUES
The hostess smiles at us, grabbing two menus. “Table for two?”
“Yes, please,” Carter says. “Banana’s like boiled water in Reno,” he adds with a straight face. I bust out laughing. The hostess shoots us both a confused look, then shakes her head. “Follow me.”
Carter reaches down and grabs my hand, pulling me forward. He doesn’t just grab my hand to lead me to our seat; he intertwines his fingers with mine and smiles at me, causing my heart to pound like a kick drum. Oh, God, this is wrong, wrong, wrong.
When we reach our table and he pulls his hand from mine to take his seat, it literally makes my heart ache, having to let go of his hand.
We both scoot into the booth and rest our elbows on the table between us. I look down at his hands…. at the one that just held mine.
There’s nothing particularly special about his hand. It’s odd how the slightest touch from that simple hand can cause such a disturbance inside of me. It’s just a hand.
What the hell is so special about his hand? “What?” he says. The sound of his voice pulls me out of my trance and I look up at him. His head is tilted to the side and his eyes are focused on mine. Hard. Like he’s attempting to read my mind.
“What?” I ask him in return, feigning ignorance. He leans back into the booth and folds his arms across his chest. “I was just wondering what you were thinking.
You were looking at my hands like you wanted to cut them off.” I didn’t realize my expression was a dead giveaway. I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks, but I refuse to look embarrassed.
I lean back in my booth and scoot toward the wall, so that I’m not sitting directly in front of him.
I prop my feet up in the seat next to him and cross my ankles, getting comfortable. “I was just thinking,” I reply. He props his feet up next to me, crossing them at the ankles as well.
I can’t tell if he’s just getting comfortable, or if he’s mimicking me. “I know you were just thinking. I want to know what you were thinking.” “Are you always this nosey?” He smiles. “When it comes to the safety of my limbs…yes.” “Well, I wasn’t thinking I wanted to cut off your hands, if that makes you feel better.” He keeps his eyes locked on mine, his head resting casually against the booth. “Tell me,” he says again. “You’re pushy,” I say, picking up the menu.
I prop it up on the table in front of me, blocking the sight of him. His piercing dark eyes are hard to say no to, so I just choose not to look at him at all. His fingers slide over the top of the menu and he pulls it down, eyeing me, still waiting for an answer.
I drop the menu and sigh. “Internal thoughts are internal for a reason, Carter.” He narrows his eyes and leans forward in the booth. “Should I not have held your hand? Did that piss you off?” The sensually smooth sound of his voice alone tickles the inside of my stomach like a feather but I try and convince myself that I’m just hungry. “It didn’t piss me off,” I say, still skirting around his demand for answers.
The problem I had with him holding my hand was that I liked it. A lot. But I’m not telling him that. I pull my gaze from his and pick the menu up again. I don’t want to see his reaction.
I read the selections on the menu for a while, very aware of the silence poised between us. The fact that he isn’t saying anything is driving me crazy. I can feel him staring; silently challenging me to look at him. “Can I get a pizza?” I ask, breaking the silence and changing the subject. “Get whatever you want,” he says, finally picking up his own menu. “Pepperoni and onions.” I drop my menu back on the table. “And water’s fine. I’m going to the restroom.” I move to slide out, but his feet are still propped up in the booth next to me, blocking my exit.
I’m forced to look up at him, but he’s still staring down at his menu. He slowly pulls one foot off the booth, then the other; a small smile playing on his lips the whole time. I scoot out of the booth and head to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I press my back to the door and close my eyes, letting out a deep, pent-up sigh. Dmn him. Dmn him for sitting by me in class. Dmn him for showing up at my house. Dmn him for being involved with Asa. Dmn him for bringing me here. Dmn him for holding my hand. Dmn him for being so nice. Dmn him for being everything I wish Asa was, and everything I wish I could have.
I wash my hands no less than ten times, but I can still feel him. I can still feel his fingers laced with mine…the rough skin of his palm pressed against my hand…the way he pulled me behind him, guiding me through the restaurant…the tingle on my palm that won’t go away, no matter how hard I scrub.
I squirt more soap into my hands and wash them for the eleventh time, then work up the nerve to finally exit the bathroom and take a seat back in the booth.
“I figured you’d want some caffeine,” Carter says, pointing to the soda in front of me. He figured right.
Dmn him. I slide the drink closer to me and place the straw between my lips. “Thanks.” He props his feet up on my side of the booth, blocking me in again. “You’re welcome,” he says, shooting me a smile that’s on the verge of seductive, and even a little bit cocky.
I catch myself staring at his lips for a beat too long, and his smile widens. “Don’t smile at me like that,” I snap, annoyed that he’s making this harder on both of us with his subtle flirtations.
I force my back against the booth and ki¢k my legs back up into the seat next to him. The smile disappears from his face and he drops his gaze down to my arms.
Anger returns to his eyes when he notices the fading bruises plastered on me like I’ve been branded. That’s how they make me feel, anyway. I run my hands up my arms and cover them, suddenly feeling exposed. “You don’t want me to smile at you?” he asks, a confused expression strewn across his face. “No,” I say sharply. “I don’t. I don’t want you to smile at me like you like me.
I don’t want you to sit next to me in class. I don’t want you to hold my hand. I don’t want you to flirt with me.
I don’t even want you to buy me lunch, but I’m too hungry to really care about that one right now.” I bring my drink to my mouth to shut myself up. He looks down at his glass and runs his hands up it, wiping off the condensation.
He slowly inhales; staring down at his glass the entire time, then expels a long, deep breath. “So, you want me to be mean to you, then?” He looks at me with an expression so cold, I don’t even recognize him.
“You want me to treat you like sht? The way Asa treats you?” He leans back in the booth, folding his arms over his broad chest. “Funny. I didn’t peg you as a doormat.” I return his heated stare with just as much fury. “Funny. I didn’t peg you for a dealer.” We hold each other’s gaze, refusing to be the one who cracks first. “I guess I do have that going for me,” he says with a smug grin.
“Dealer? Check. Asshole? Check. What else would it take, Sloan? What else do I need to do to get you to fk me? You want me to sIap you around a little bit? Seems to work wonders for Asa.” His ¢ruel words are like a direct punch to my gut, knocking the breath out of me. “Fk you,” I say through clenched teeth. “No thanks. Apparently I’d have to hit you first, and that’s not my style.” I bite my lip and hold my breath, fighting back tears.
I’ve spent the last year and a half teaching myself how not to cry in front of id!ots. I’ve got this. “Take me back to my car,” I say. He closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face.
He groans out of frustration, then clasps his hands together behind his neck. “I’ll take you after you eat something.” I scoot over in the booth until my thigh meets his feet. “I’m not hungry.
Let me out.” He doesn’t move his feet, so instead I pull my legs up and stand up in the booth, then jump over him.
I head for the door, never having wanted to get away from someone so quickly in my entire life. “Sloan,” he calls after me. “Sloan!” I swing the door open and walk outside a rush of wind colliding with my face as I gasp for air.
I bend over and put my hands on my knees, inhaling through my nose and out my mouth, over and over.
When the threat of tears subsides, I straighten up and walk toward his car. The alarm beeps twice and the doors unlock. I turn around, but he isn’t following me.
He’s still inside the restaurant. Dmn him. He just unlocked the car for me. I slam the door as hard as I can after I climb inside. I wait for him to walk outside, but he doesn’t.
Several moments pass, and I realize he has no intention of following me. He’s actually going to eat first. He’s an even bigger jerk than I thought.
I grab the baseball cap off the console and put it on my head, pulling it down over my eyes to block the sun.
If I have to wait for him to eat lunch before he takes me back to Asa’s car, I might as well get a nap out of it.
TOO LATE : CHAPTER 11 – 20
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