Page 27 of Double Standards
But he’s also something else. Something sharp-edged andmagnetic, and infuriatingly alive. Being near him makes me feel like I’ve been sleepwalking for years and finally slammed face-first into reality.
I lean on the counter, letting the cool tile press into my palms.
I should be ashamed. I should be furious at myself for letting a moment as small as that get under my skin. But instead, all I feel is that maddening pull. Like if he knocked on the door right now and put a gun to my head, I’d still let him in. No questions asked.
And that scares the hell out of me.
Because I used to know who I was. What I wanted.
Now? I don’t even know if I want Cooper to come back.
Or if I’d rather open the door and find Axel waiting on the other side.
Maybe that’s the worst part; that I don’t feel guilty at all.
Ithought I’d managed one Axel-free day. But the second I step outside to grab lunch, that illusion shatters.
Colombo is leaning against the familiar sleek black SUV, arms crossed over his chest, eyes tracking me like a predator waiting for a twitch. There’s a glint of amusement in his gaze; he’s enjoying this. Enjoyingmeseeing him. And judging by the slow curl of a smirk on his lips, he hears the reluctance in every breath, even from ten meters away.
I freeze.
Just for a moment. Like a deer too smart to run, but too dumb to disappear. But we both know I’m not going back inside. Not without drawing attention. Not without consequences. So I exhale the curse caught in my throat and stalk toward him.
“Miss Caruthers.” He dips his chin in mock respect, thenswings the passenger door open like he’s inviting me into something holy.
I hesitate.
Colombo issmiling. And that, more than anything, unsettles me. He’s usually stone-faced, professional. Brutal in his silence. But now? He’s practically glowing. Whatever this is, it’s off—and I don’t like it.
“Let me guess,” I mutter once I’m inside the vehicle. “Axel wants to see me.”
The door shuts with a dullthunkbefore Colombo climbs into the other side and starts the engine. “Knew you were smarter than you looked.”
I bite my tongue at his remark, resisting the urge to lash out. I could, if I wanted to. If I had a death wish. “Why can’t he come himself?” I ask.
“You can askhimthat,” he grumbles, turning us into the traffic.
I avert my gaze, focusing on something else—anything but the way Colombo keeps looking at me like he’s dissecting me piece by piece and enjoying every second of it. My attention flicks to the dashboard, to the steady tick of the turn signal, to the blur of movement outside the window.
None of it holds.
Because I can stillfeelhis eyes on me. Heavy. Intent. Like he knows exactly how uncomfortable I am and is savoring the power in it. It crawls along my spine, slow and deliberate, and I press my lips together to keep from showing just how much it’s getting to me. I focus on breathing, on pretending like I’m unbothered, like his gaze doesn’t feel like a threat wrapped in a smile.
But it does. And we both know it.
“Relax,” he chuckles. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You really need to lighten up.”
The words are too easy, too practiced. They’re designed to lull you into a false sense of safety, but I’m not fooled.
“Can you stop looking at me like that?” I snap. “It’s disturbing.”
“This is my natural face.”
“So you naturally look like you’re about to snap someone’s neck?”
He laughs. “Only if I want them dead.”
The traffic light ahead of us turns red; the car glides to a smooth stop. But my pulse doesn’t. It spikes, hard and fast, like it’s trying to outrun something. I know it’s a coincidence—Colombo’s timing isn’tthatperfect—but for a split second, I wonder. Idoubt.
