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No matter how much I want to keep away, each day proves to be more difficult than the last. My head and my heart know what the right thing to do is, but my body betrays me.

The hormonal teenage boy inside wants to follow her around like a lapdog, drooling at her. Thankfully, a few well-timed wanks and a good talking to have kept him under control. But now my head is starting to wonder if I’m doing the right thing.

Do you know what the problem is? I can hear her crying sometimes. Tears—specifically Teigan’s—are my fucking kryptonite. I can’t sit here and listen to her crying by herself without wanting to go to her. There was a time when I would know exactly what to do to stop her crying, to comfort her, but we’re not those people anymore.

I know she talks to Bree a lot, and McKenna, too. So she has people who are there for her to help her through this. I’m sure I even heard Bree say she’s setting her up with a counsellor, to give her someone impartial to talk to. She definitely doesn’t need me…so why do I still want to be the one to comfort her?

In all honesty, the mixture of emotions that are rumbling around my head are driving me fucking crazy. Just when I think I know what to do, something new comes along. I tell myself it’ll be fine if I just talk to her like a friend, but then I remind myself she’s not my friend. Far from it. And this compendium of emotions are putting me on the fucking edge—meaning I’m even more of a grumpy asshole than normal.

Two weeks after arriving at the safe house, I let my guard down and agree to have a meal with Teigan. I keep telling myself that no harm can come from it. We’re stuck here together for the foreseeable future, so we may as well try to be civil towards each other. Or things are going to get a whole lot more awkward.

“Do you wanna order Chinese tonight?” Teigan asks as soon as she walks into the kitchen that morning. We agreed to ameal together the night before, but never discussed any of the specifics, as I pretty much ran to my room afterwards.

“Sure,” I grunt, keeping my eyes fixed on the coffee in front of me.

“Did you make me this?” she asks, grabbing my attention as she points to the extra mug of coffee on the side.

“I was making one for myself, and I heard you coming downstairs,” I reply, trying to sound as nonchalant as I can.

She lifts the mug to her lips—which I’m absolutely not staring at—and takes a small sip, her eyes fluttering closed when she tastes the caffeine. The moan she lets out is almost too much, and I can feel my cock hardening.

“You remembered how I take my coffee.” It’s not a question, though she sounds a little shocked.

“I used to get you at least one coffee a day, sometimes more, for a few years. Not something I will ever forget, though I was worried you wouldn’t still like it that way,” I admit, trying to downplay the significance of me remembering.

She looks at me over the rim of the mug, and I’m sure I can see the edges of a smile behind it. “Never. Why mess with perfection?”

“Exactly,” I reply, lifting my own cup again to take a sip, more for something to do. It’s so fucking hard to talk to her now, and the longer the silence sits between us, the more awkward things get.

“So, Chinese… Is it still your favourite?” she asks, pulling me back to the original discussion.

“Yeah. Like you said, why mess with perfection?” I don’t know why the hell I add a wink onto the end, but my heart stutters when I notice her cheeks flushing.

Dangerous territory, Evan, I remind myself!

“I know you’re probably really busy, but I was wondering…after the food, maybe…you’d want to watch a movie?” she asks timidly, and my eyes flick up quickly to latch onto hers.

Her gaze drops down to her coffee again, and I know she’s deliberately avoiding making eye contact with me. Does she mean like a date? Or just for something to do in the evening? I don’t even know how to approach this.

“Sure… I mean, we can do that, if you’re not busy,” I mumble.

She looks up at me as she lets out a little laugh, that absolutely does nothing to my stomach. I don’t get butterflies like a teenage girl. “Evan, I hardly have a packed schedule.”

Of course she doesn’t. Given we’re keeping her locked in a fucking safe house. God, I seem to get more stupid around this woman.

“Right,” I grumble, taking another sip of coffee just to avoid the awkwardness of the situation. “Are you bored?”

Seriously, it’s like the word vomit just spills out around her.

She tilts her head, like she’s assessing me. Maybe she’s trying to work out if I’ve gotten dumber since we last saw each other.

“I mean, there’s not exactly a lot to do, but I’m not complaining. I’ve spoken to Bree and McKenna a few times. When it’s safe, they’re going to come and see me. Otherwise, I’ve just been lounging around. It may be a tad boring, but it’s a nice change of pace from how life has been recently.”

And there it is… The conversation I’ve been trying to avoid having since I picked her up from Club Crimson. I’m sure she wants to talk to me about what’s been going on with her, or maybe she just needs to talk to someone, but I’m not the right person.

I’m already barely containing my anger as it is, and that’s based on what I can imagine happened to her. I fear the reality may be so much worse.

“Yeah… I’m sure it is. If you ever want to use the gym, or you need anything to help…occupy the time, just let me know,” I reply.