Page 10 of Unrequited

But she doesn’t look ashamed. Doesn’t look nervous.

She looks… defiant.

That stubborn little chin of hers tilts up like a challenge, and something sharp and electric slices through me.

So I crook a finger at her. A command, plain and simple.

Is she going to obey me? My god, if she does.

Sure enough, she whispers something to her useless feckin’ friend, gets to her feet, and walks that short, dangerous distance across the room to where I sit.

“I told you not to come back here,” I say. It’s barely a whisper, but it hits like a threat.

Everything I say to her feels like foreplay. Like teasing. Like temptation.

And I shouldn’t be doing it.

Iknowthat.

“I told you,” I repeat.

“And I’m tellingyou,” she says with a smile, “that you’re not in charge of me.”

Oh. Brave little lass, eh?

But her eyes betray her. There’s a flicker in them. Uncertainty, maybe?

Need,definitely.

A silent, unspoken thought:I want you to be.

Aye, sweet lass. You and me both.

“Have you stayed out of trouble?” I ask her, gentler now.

I pull the chair beside me out for her. She slides into it without a word, her body tense but eager.

“Yes,” she says. But it sounds more like a question than an answer. There's hesitation in her voice that makes my brows draw together.

“Why does that sound like you’re lying to me?” I lean closer.

I nod at the waitress to bring drinks.

And then it hits me. Feck, is she even old enough to drink? “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” she says, too fast, like she’s rehearsed it.

Little liar.

I growl under my breath. “Aye, try that again.”

She blinks. “Twenty?”

That might be a lie too. But I decide it’s good enough. Barely. She’s old enough to drink. Old enough for more than that, but still…

She’s twelve years younger than I am.

Good luck, bad luck? Which is it again?