Page 110 of His To Erase

The air outside the club is cooler now—damp with the bite of spilled liquor. It smells like perfume and sweat and the ghost of a fight that probably happened an hour ago.

I expect some sleek black car to be waiting at the curb with tinted windows, and the engine running, but instead, Frank leads me to the passenger side of his own car—a matte black coupe that looks like it was custom-built for egos and mid-life crises.

He opens the door for me, waiting until I’m settled in. His hand brushes my leg when he helps me pull the hem of my dress in so it doesn’t catch in the door then walks around the car and gets in. He pulls out into the night like he owns the road too.

The silence stretches for a while, broken only by the hum of tires and whatever elevator music is slipping from the speakers. Nothing I’d ever pick—but of course, it fits him perfectly.

He doesn’t say much at first, but when he finally glances over at me, it’s with that same soft, dark smile that I can’t decide if I like or not.

“Why do you always look like you’re seconds from running?”

I raise a brow. “Maybe that’s because I am.”

He laughs, warm and deep like it actually touches something in him.

“I like that about you,” he murmurs. “You don’t give anything away.”

I want to say he’s wrong. That I give away too much. That I’ve been bleeding pieces of myself for months trying to figure out what the hell’s broken in me. But I just smirk and look out the window.

“Don’t romanticize it,” I mutter. “It’s called trauma.”

He laughs again, and this time his hand drifts to my thigh, letting it sit there with his fingers pressing down softly.

“You look good in my car,” he says, his eyes still on the road. “Bet you’ll look even better in my house.”

I turn my head, brows pulling in. “What?”

He smiles again. “I told you, it’s inevitable. I’ll give you ‘til the end of the month. After that, we’re done playing around.”

And then we’re pulling up to my house. The headlights flash across the parking lot of my apartment complex like a punch to the chest, and for a second, I forget what we were talking about.

Wait, I never told him where I lived.My jaw tightens and.. my mind stalls.And what the hell does that even mean? Done playing around.

I stare straight ahead, blinking hard, trying to process what he just said. I should ask, but the words get stuck in my throat, clinging to the edge of panic that never really left me.

It’s the way he said it—so offhanded and casual, like it didn’t mean anything. But I’ve seen what Frank looks like when he means something.

I open my mouth and close it. My hand hovers over the door handle, “I’ve never told you where I lived. How did you know I lived here?”

“You probably forgot, baby. You do realize we’ve been seeing each other for months.”

He says it so easily, like I’m the one who must be confused.Maybe I did forget.

“You okay, Doll?” he asks. His tone is warmer now, sweet even. “You look like you’re somewhere else.”

I force a tight smile, grabbing the handle. “Long day.”

He leans over slowly, but I don’t move fast enough to stop him before he’s grabbing my chin. His lips brush mine, and I just let it happen.

Because I’m tired. And he can be charming, sometimes. And because pretending someone wants me for something other than leverage feels better than nothing.

His hand slides to my upper thigh, fingers brushing over the fabric like he’s memorizing the feel of me. And just as quickly, he pulls back—gone before I can react.

“Sleep well, baby,” he smiles. “I’ll see you when I get back from my trip.”

I didn’t even get dinner. What the fuck.

Steven