Page 48 of Black Castle

Banks eyes glide to where her eyes are fixated. Then he turns to her. “Your boyfriend?”

“Um, yes.” The words leave her mouth without much thought. Only realizing what she has said by the echo in the wind, her head snaps to Banks.

He doesn’t particularly look angry. There’s a distant look, though, quite like disappointment, but not of a person that feels led on. Because there’s never been a time where she told him yes or an instant she made it look like she was thinking about it.

“I, uh, I’m sorry?” she murmurs, suddenly unsure of the right phrase.

“Well, guess I never really had a chance.” A rather devastating sigh breaks out of his lips. But that boyish smile returns almost immediately, expelling the momentarily shadow clouding his face some seconds ago.

“But can I at least have a hug?” The request takes her off guard. But it’s just a hug, right?

“Um, sure.”

Immediately, she finds herself in his surprisingly warm and comforting embrace, his muscular arms holding her close. But the longer it lasts, the more awkward it becomes.

She shifts in his arms, clearing her throat to signal him to loosen his hold.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his head, a shy smile lifting the curve of his lips. And there they are, the famous dimples that captivates many girls—including her, not so long ago.

She glances at Lucan’s car. What exactly has that man done to her? A hug has never happened, much less a kiss. Their bond, until this point, has been solely based on meaningful conversations. And yet she’s completely and utterly enamored with him.

This is so unhealthy.

“Bye,” she beams, waving at Banks.

“Goodbye, dream girl.”

Although they have waved at each other before in the parking lot, this one feels like a real goodbye. No more flirtatious smiles, comments or winks across the hallways.

With a deep exhale, she shoves her hands inside her blazer pockets then begins to head to Lucan’s car. And the closer she approaches, the faster her heartbeats. Excitement buzzes in her veins. Somehow, it feels like there is a whole nother world, better than this, waiting for her just behind those tinted glasses.

Just as she’s about to get to the car, the driver’s door bursts open, revealing a man with a gun, dressed in green cargo pants and a black shirt.

A soldier. She’s so used to seeing them now.

He opens the door of the backseat, ushering her inside. The moment she’s in the car, she’s surrounded by the comforting scent of sandalwood and rose, a gentle fusion of earthy and floral.

“Um, hi?” she whispers, confused, because doesn’t even spare her a glance or at least make any bodily movement to show that he’s at least aware of her presence in the car.

He remains motionless, gazing out the window. His rigid stance and tight jaw mirrors the stiffness he displayed on their coffee date when Waylen was placing his order.

“Hello?” she waves her hand in front of him.

“Who is he?” Finally, he speaks, his eyes still fixed on the window, or whatever intrigues him behind the tinted glass.

His gaze finally meet hers, golden eyes reflecting a fierce internal struggle. “That’s not your Japanese friend.”

He appears to be wrestling with a feeling similar to anger. His perfectly arched brows are curved down. But he still looks so breathtaking. And she’s struck anew by the spellbinding beauty that makes it hard to breathe. Highlighted by the darkness of the car, he looks ethereal, like the moon indeed.

“A friend.” She shrugs, too focused on trying to wrap her head around why he’s here, to ponder over why he is so particular about Banks.

“You’ve never told me about him.”

“He’s also from Kenji’s soccer team,” she tells him. “He was dropping me off at home because Kenji couldn’t.”

Without another word, he returns his gaze to the window, observing Banks’ car leave the parking lot rapidly.

“Is there a problem?”

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