Page 37 of Marked By Him

He doesn’t need to wait outside when he knows how to getinside.

But the confines of my tiny apartment are the only sanctuary I have.

By day three, I know I’ll need to head to one of the shopping districts to purchase a new phone. Jin left mine with a spiderwebbed screen that doesn’t even light up anymore and with the touch features barely responsive.

I’m able to read my messages on my MacBook, which includes one from Kelly inviting me to lunch at Café Dalbit.

I agree, mostly because of the new phone I need and the comfort of someone else’s company.

“What is up with you lately?” Kelly asks once we meet up outside the small café serving light Korean dishes. She gives me a hug, then stands back to eye me. “You normally look so put-together. But lately…”

I sigh. “Thanks, Kelly.”

“You know what I mean! UsuallyI’mthe one with bags under my eyes and random bruises from my latest fall down the stairs.”

“Let’s grab a table.”

We place our orders, two bowls of what’s known as rose cream pasta in Korea, with frothy iced lattes to sip from. Kelly looks put-together in a sunny yellow spaghetti-strap dress and a fishtail braid, her cheeks naturally flushed from the heat.

Meanwhile, she was right… Idolook a mess.

I’ve worn a hoodie in an attempt to disguise the bruising on my throat—andthe mark on my wrist—and put on the baggiest, most unflattering pair of jeans and old sneakers I own.

But it’s still wet and rainy out, and once lunch is done and I’ve bought my new phone, I’m headed straight home. Back to my refuge.

“You said you need a new phone?” Kelly asks.

“Mine is done. I dropped it and cracked the screen.”

“Rough,” she says, brows ticking up. “You must’ve dropped it from, like, the 9thfloor of your apartment for it to crack that much.”

“Um, yeah… it was really high up.”

“Technology and I are on the outs too. You wanna hear about my Tinder date the other night?”

I nod, even though my brain is running two tracks behind.

Kelly launches into telling me all about the guy she’d swiped right on.

“So this guy—Peter or Paul or something with a P—shows up wearing Crocs. I don’t mean the ironic, stylish kind. I mean lime green ones with the ventilation holes like swiss fucking cheese. He had a weird red stain on the front of his shirt. I think it was some kind of sauce. I swear he just rolled out of bed.

“And, like, ten minutes in, I noticed he kept picking at his nose! Like he wasn’t even subtle about it. I really couldn’t believe it,” she says, sipping from her iced coffee drizzled with chocolate. “We’re all human, but it was just gross. No tissue, no washing his hands. And then, he has the audacity to suggest we go fifty-fifty on the bill. Like, sir, no. That’s not how this goes.”

Despite the heaviness on my mind, I let out a real laugh. “Sounds like karma for Andrew.”

She snorts. “I knew you’d say that! Okay, okay… fair. I’m sorry, okay? I was trying to do a nice thing. I really thought you and Drew would hit it off. But I’m officially retired from matchmaking. That whole date was a war crime.”

I listen as she rambles on about another guy whose messaged her on the dating apps, but I’m hardly listening.

My mind is on the one man I wish I could forget. The same man who kissed me so voraciously just a couple days ago.

If I’m honest, the best kiss of my life, which only makes thingsmoreconfusing.

How could a man so cold and cruel be such an achingly good kisser?

It’s a freaking paradox.

My gaze wanders around the café, landing on a man up at the front counter. He’s in a hoodie like I am, but I’m more focused on his hands—they’re covered in tattoos just like Jin’s are.

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