Page 32 of Abyss

Maybe it’s the upside down. That makes more sense.

She doesn’t respond, her eyes shifting back to look out the window.

“It’s . . . different,” I continue, a hiccup interrupting my thoughts. “Less eclectic and more . . . more chic.” When she continues her vow of silence, I wiggle out of my suit jacket. “But you know what, Kav?”

She finally turns to me, a peculiar look in her eyes. Something soft—the kind she doesn’t reserve for me—something familiar.

Familiar?Why would it be familiar when I’ve never seen it?

Is it because I called her Kav?

Fuck, I like her name. I really like her name and her face and the way she smells . . .

I really like . . .

I place my jacket over her shoulders without much finesse. I saw that going differently in my head. “What does your name mean?”

My eyes are unsteady, but they’re steadily focused on her lips. That fucking gem sparkling over them.

If I kissed her, would I feel it on my tongue?

I wouldn’t kiss her, though. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.

For so many reasons . . .

I lift my fingers, counting each one out loud. “Madison.” Index finger is up and I’m waving it around in front of my face. “Employee.” Second finger joins the first. “Age gap.” Third finger comes up and I chuckle.

Brie reads these dirty romance books and was telling me her favorite was ‘age gap’. I never got a chance to ask her to clarify that. I mean, technically, unless you were born on the same day as your love interest, wasn’t there always some sort of age gap?

Love interest?

The fuck did that come from?

My pinky lifts, and I waggle all four fingers in front of her. “Roommate.”

Her brows pinch in confusion as she shrugs into my jacket, but not before running her nose over the collar.

I flash her my teeth. “Lavender and pine.”

A stunned widening of her burnished eyes meets mine, cheeks picking up a blush before she clears her throat and juts out the water bottle in her hand. “You should drink the rest of this.”

I run the tip of my finger over her orange fingernails, making her fingers flinch and the bottle crackle, before I take it from her. Chugging the entire thing and wiping a droplet from the corner of my lips with the back of my hand, I slouch against my seat.

My head swings her way. “Well, that was a successful meeting, don’t you think?”

Her gaze surveys me, questioning if I’m setting a trap. “It was. It seemed like Silas was pleased.”

I chuckle, the barbs of something thorny and bitter pressing against my ribs. “Ah, yes. Silas. His son seemed to be pleased, too. Wouldn’t you say?”

Lips pursing, she snaps her head back to look out the window, dismissing my probing.

“I’m just saying . . .” I lean in, my breath brushing the shell of her ear. “If I hadn’t secured the deal by dinner, you definitely helped clinch it at the bar.”

Her head jerks back toward me, my bitter insinuation landing the way I had expected. But she doesn’t expect my closeness, my face, lips, millimeters from hers. “Don’t be an asshole, Hudson.”

I’m distracted by her.

Her little gasps of breaths. Her smooth lips. Her lemony scent.

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