Page 7 of Beautifully Deranged

Oh.

His touch burns, and I barely stop myself from melting into him. He’s close enough that if I stood on my tiptoes, our lips would touch.

I think he might kiss me. Instead, he turns me around with a firm push between my shoulder blades. “Go on.”

“Bossy.”

“Slow.”

I spin on my heel, walking backward. “You just like watching me walk in front of you.”

His eyes flick—so, so briefly—to my tits.

And I know I’ve won this round.

The run is brutal. Every step burns, every breath is a battle, but I’ve never been happier. He doesn’t snap at me as much anymore, or try to outrun me like he’s actively trying to leave me in the dust. He’s still broody, but I swear, there’ssomething a little softer around the edges. Or I’m just delirious from the cardio. I know his routine. After his run, he always heads to the café down the street from our building. “How about a cup of coffee?” I hum, casual, as if the idea just popped into my head.

He grunts, but his feet are already carrying him toward the café. That’s a yes. The bell chimes as we enter, and my eyes immediately land on the barista who flirted with him before. Still, she tries again, straightening as she spots him.

Sliding up to his side, I loop my arm around his, pressing close.

Mine.

His whole body goes rigid. Will he push me off? Growl some grumpy protest?

He doesn’t move at all. I tighten my hold just a little, fingers brushing over the firm muscle of his forearm. The barista’s smile falters.

“What do you want?” he asks me.

"I'll take a black coffee."

"Just black?"

I nod. "Bitter. Harsh. Hard to swallow… reminds me of someone."

He chuckles before ordering. "Two black coffees."

I stir my coffee slowly when we take a seat.

“You know, I never pegged you for the social type,” I tell him.

“I’m not.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He takes a sip of coffee. “You talk a lot.”

“You’re not the first man to tell me that. Though usually, they say it in a very different tone.”

His fists clench around his cup like he’s imagining it’s someone’s throat. Butjust as quickly, he’s back to normal.

Is he Jealous? God, I hope so.

“You’re very—” He stops himself.

“Very…?” I press.

“Persistent.”

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