Page 48 of No, You Hang Up

“Youleft,” I say again, and this time my hand comes down to trace his fingers. I can’t help myself with anything right now, it seems. Part of me expects him to shove my hand away, or to lift his own. But he just sits there, still gripping my thigh and letting me press my hand along his.

His fingers are longer than mine. His hands are warm and familiar, even though they shouldn’t be.Heshouldn’t be a comfort, but that’s what he’s becoming to me. “I can’t be yours if you left.” My words are stubborn and flat.

Unexpectedly, he turns his hand over to twine his fingers with mine. I’m too slow to move, not that I want to, and seconds later, I’m snared in his grip as he tightens his hold on me. “You should not sound upset that I left. You should sound upset that I’m back,” Huxley says in a voice that’s a lot closer to the one he gets when I know he’s close to losing control.

And from the way my body tenses in anticipation at the tone, I really might have to examine that when we’re no longer in the truck.

“What if I’m not?”

“You’re messed up.”

“Yeah, assface, so are you.”

That gets me a snort, and he taps his finger on the back of my hand, almost in admonition, but not quite. “Yeah, but you have a chance here. You could go be normal. It’s not like you’ve killed anyone. You’ve lied to the cops for me a little, but just a bit. You should forget I exist and go back to being?—”

“Boring,” I finish for him. “And yet you came back after you said you wouldn’t. Stop trying to change the subject, Hux.”

He rolls his eyes at me, though there’s a latent fondness in the gesture he doesn’t hide. “I tried,” he tells me finally, and pulls his fingers from mine. I can’t help my pang of disappointment, at least until an unopened water bottle, cool from being in his car, lands in my lap. “Drink that. I didn’t realize how much of a lightweight you are, pretty girl. You should’ve told me, and I wouldn’t have had you order another drink.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Don’t start.”

I know what he means, even if I want to pretend that I don’t. Instead of arguing, I crack open the bottle and bring it to my lips with a sigh. It’s not as good as straight black coffee would be, but it’ll work in a pinch. Immediately, I down a third of the bottle before putting the cap back on and letting the water bottle slide into the cup holder.

“You came back.”

The words sit between us in the comforting darkness of his truck. The only lights are the ones from outside, and as we near the less commercial side of Lexington, those aren’t too bright or overwhelming. His hand once again moves to my leg, though this time it’s a lot closer to my inner thigh instead of spread over the top.

“I didn’t…exactly,” Hux admits finally with a huff. “I stayed away. Mostly. I drove past your house a couple of times, maybe. But I didn’t knock.”

“You never knock.”

“I could knock.”

But I just roll my eyes at him and he shakes his head at my attitude. “You’d better watch it, Kai. Your brattiness is going to have delayed consequences. Just because I won’t flip you over my lap here while I’m driving doesn’t mean I don’t plan to when we get back to your house.”

Oh.

Oh dear.The way the thought of that has me distracted from everything that should matter is probably questionable, and I have to actually focus on breathing around the sudden tightness in my throat. But naturally, he notices. Naturally he’s quick to turn that wicked grin on me, and his eyes darken for the half-second his look lasts.

“Such a little masochist, aren’t we?” Hux coos. “Just looking to be punished by me for anything and everything. I have some ideas, pretty girl, but I’ll wait until you’re well and truly trapped with me to tell them to you. Anyway…” His thumb once again rubs against my leg over my tights, and the material has really never felt thinner.

“I tried,” he says again. “I meant to, and I tried. You’re just…fuck.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know, okay? I tried, I failed. But I still wasn’t sure if I was going to approach you again. But then you just had to show up at Revival Room, didn’t you? Had to sit there with that pretty, stupid boy?—”

“I only did it?—”

“Shut up, little bunny.” His fingers tighten until I can feel each centimeter of his skin pressed to mine. This time, I reach up with my hand and press down against him, urging him to grip harder.

To my secret delight, Huxley does. His fingers dig into my leg in a way that’s almost painful but definitely isn’t, to me. Instead, I want to squirm with delight under his touch, like a cat. Hell, I’d probably purr for my fucked up murder-man too.

“You sat there and flirted with him. I might’ve left you alone…” he trails off, and when I glance at him, I see he’s looking thoughtful. “No, I don’t think so. I would’ve killed him at the very least, just to make myself feel better. But then you just looked so damn bored and when I texted, you just lit up. Did you know that?”

I do know that, but I don’t really want to say it out loud just to stroke his ego, so I don’t say a word or give him any gesture of agreement. I just trace my fingers over the back of his hand and try not to look too pleased.

“I knew right then you were mine. And I don’t think I can get you to admit it right now, because we both know I won’t have a car accident just to prove a point to you. Probably. But I’ll make you admit it too. You want to know something else? Maybe a little more important?”

This time when I look at him, his grin is wolfish. “What?” I ask, confused and curious about his words.

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