Page 100 of Things I Read About

I snap my head to look at him, but his eyes are on the road. I’m confused by both how little I ate and the fact that he noticed. “You were watching me eat?”

He glances over at me, his face neutral. “It’s my job. Could be poisoned. You could choke. You could under-eat and get yourself wasted and vulnerable, the list goes on.”

I frown. “Oh. Right.” I look away, mad that I’m disappointed in his answer. Mad that I let my disappointment show. I told the girls we were both over each other. Over Park City.

I wanted that to be true.

I want to be over it. I don’t want to ache for the man next to me to reach out and grab my hand. I want to be fine, like him. Blank, unaffected, detached.

Except. Wait.

What the hell did Valerie say about him scaring off four guys?

25

I study him for the last few minutes of our drive. He must know I’m staring, but he doesn’t say a word. Or glance my way. He just watches the road.

When we make it into the safety of the garage, I hop out. As usual, he takes long strides from the far garage bay to the back door, dodging dogs as he goes.

I almost run to make it into the kitchen just after him. I muster what tiny bit of courage I have, because he’s about to disappear up the stairs like a ghost.

“Is that true?” I say quickly.

He stops. “Is what true?” He turns slowly to face me. He’s partially painted by the yellow light from the kitchen stove. He must have programmed that to come on, so we don’t stumble through the dark. His features are softened by the dim glow.

He’s beautiful.

“Did you scare off four guys?”

Nate looks out the dark windows to our left. “Your friend was wasted.”

I walk up to him, bolder now, because that’s not an answer. I stop just shy of touching him, afraid to actually make contact. Afraid he’ll push me away. Again. “You didn’t answer the question.”

He looks down at me, flexing all the muscles in his jaw.

I’m in my wedge sandals again, making me tall enough so that he doesn’t have to hunch over to reach me. If he wanted to reach me, that is.

He stares, so I repeat myself, “Did you scare them off?”

His voice is tight. “I was just doing my job.”

“No.”

He leans toward me, barely. “No?”

“That’s not your job. That’s b.s. and you know it.”

“I do know it. I also know it’s exactly what you wanted.”

My mouth falls open.

His eyes dart down at the same time.

I still can’t quite tell what he’s thinking. So how does he read my thoughts so easily? It’s infuriating.

“You don’t know what I want,” I say weakly.

He inches closer. So close that if I took a deep breath, my chest would touch his.