Page 27 of Knot Here for You

It’s not fucking fair.

Davis slides our drinks onto the table and it’s with a sinking heart I realize he ordered them for here. Not to go. I had thought I would be able to just leave once they were ready, but now if I want my shot of caffeine, I have to sit here.

I open my mouth again, but Davis presses his finger against my lips, stalling my words. “Shh, not yet.” Logically, I know that a finger on my mouth doesn’t stop me from talking, but my brain short circuits at the contact, at the press of the calloused pad against my flesh, he gently strokes along my bottom lip as he pulls away. My tongue darts out and I taste him. He tastes like he smells. French toast.

That’s the only reason I don’t say anything. Instead, I watch as he lays out a napkin in front of him, opens the box of pastries he’s pushed off to the side of the table, reaches in and pulls out the donut. He places it on the napkin and slides it over to me. “Eat that. It’s not a greasy bacon, egg and cheese biscuit, but it’ll help.”

I stare down at the pink frosting and rainbow sprinkles. “Help with what?”

He sips his coffee, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Your hangover.” Blue-gray eyes sweep over me, seeing every little thing, every change time has wrought. “You look rough, Vee. Still beautiful, but rough.”

I almost tell him that’s what happens when you spend seven years being sick. That, of course, I look rough. My body is halfway to shutting down on me. But I don’t say that. It’s not any of his business and he can’t do anything about it, anyway. Instead, I pick up the donut and take a bite. I may groan at how good it tastes. The little sprinkles worked into the donut batter make the insides look like a rainbow, and the pink frosting tastes like strawberries.

My tongue darts out to catch a bit of the icing from my lips and Davis lets out a possessive growl that I swear vibrates the air around me. I arch a brow at him as I chew and he holds my stare completely unrepentant.

“Don’t look at me like that, beautiful. I can’t help it.” I ignore the way my face flushes and take another bite of my breakfast. Davis taps his nose. “I like the nose ring. Sexy as fuck.”

Again my face flames and again I Ignore him, choosing instead to sip my latte. Oh, fuck yeah, that’s the stuff. I know it’s a placebo effect, but that first sip of coffee clears some of the fog in my brain, and I swear I already have more energy.

Davis doesn’t seem to be in any rush, he just sits there sipping his coffee watching me devour the donut, biding his time, I’m sure. When the last bite of the pastry is gone, he leans forward. “Where have you been, Vee?” I stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out how I want to play this. He sighs. “Don’t overthink it, Sylvie. Just answer the fucking question.”

“I’m not Sylvie.” The words just pop out, surprising me. I want to smack myself on the forehead, honestly. This is possibly the most ridiculous thing I’ve done.

Davis’s lips pull into a smirk. One that I remember. It’s his ‘god, you’re adorable’ smirk. It’s one I never thought I would see again. And it makes my heart hurt and a little flair of panic form in my stomach. He can’t look at me like that. It’s not fair for him to. Not after what he did. What they did.

He doesn’t get to sit across from me looking sexy and healthy and whole, while I’m a hot mess he described as rough. He doesn’t get to make me remember what it was like. I don’t need that from him. I don’t need anything from him.

That’s not true.

Davis’s smile falls, and he reaches toward me, one big hand sliding across the table toward mine. I jerk away before he can make contact. “Vee, beautiful. I’m sorry. If you aren’t ready to talk about it…” I can tell he wants to demand that I do, but he’s trying to give me time, space, whatever he thinks I need. “We don’t have to, not right now. But, sweetheart, we’re going to have a conversation at some point.”

I shake my head, meeting his eyes. “No, we aren’t. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. There is nothing for us to talk about. What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?”

Yesterday with Jackson, I could be strong, to hold on to my anger and brazen my way through that interaction. I have the added support of Whitman, and that made it a lot easier. But here with Davis after a night of drinking myself to oblivion and waking up feeling beat down? I’m not above a little pleading.

“Just tell me, what do I need to do to finish out my visit here in peace?”

He frowns. Blue-gray eyes pouring over me again, and this time it’s like he’s actually seeing me. Seeing the hurt and the rejection that is still there after seven years. Maybe that surprises him. Maybe they thought I would just get over them in a matter of months, move on like they did.

That I didn’t, makes me feel pathetic, weak. That he can see it now? Makes me feel even more so.

Blinking rapidly, I look away from him, out the window, just as my phone rings. I pull it out and answer without looking. I’m that raw. That hurt… still, after seven fucking years, that I’ll just answer a phone call without checking the number because I need a distraction for the pain in my chest.

“Hello?”

“Is this Sylvie Kinsella?”

I flick my gaze over to Davis, who has leaned forward over the table, and I have the distinct impression that he can hear the other side of the conversation.

“This is she.” I work to keep my voice professional.

“Oh, good. This is Janet with Aurora Whitten’s office. I was calling to let you know that her ten-thirty appointment was canceled, so if you want to head over early to finalize your grandmother’s estate, that will work for us, too.”

I look at the clock on the wall and see it’s almost ten-thirty. Excellent. I can get this taken care of a lot earlier than I was hoping, and that means I can be out of the city and home by four. My shoulders droop as some of the tension eases. It’s almost over. Just a few more hours.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Thank you, Janet,” I answer before hanging up. Without looking at Davis, I gulp down the rest of my coffee and stand. He does too.

“Vee, wait.” His hand comes to rest on my forearm, keeping me from running like I want to.

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