Page 212 of Collide
Broderick smirks, but there’s nothing friendly about it. “Elena and I are friends. Or is that a problem for you?”
Alex’s eyes darken. “Not when that ‘friend’ constantly undresses her with his eyes, or were you hoping we’d broken up and you’d swoop in like a hero?”
Broderick’s expression hardens. “If you’re insecure, just say so,” he retorts, sharp as glass.
My heart clenches. I quickly step between them, the air thick like a storm about to break. “Guys?—”
“What the fuck did you just say?” Alex shoots back, voice quiet, lethal.
“You heard me,” Broderick bites out, squaring his shoulders.
“Are you two seriously doing this right now?” I ask, completely flabbergasted that these two grown men are acting like cavemen.
“He started it,” they both grumble at the exact same time.
“I don’t care, seriously. This is so stupid.”
From the kitchen, Riley’s voice cuts through like a fire alarm. “Do I need to hose you two idiots off again?!”
Neither of them answers, still locked in that silent battle, testosterone practically choking the air.
I throw my hands up. “Are you done measuring dicks, or should I give you some privacy?”
Still nothing.
Riley stomps over, arms crossed, fully ready to save me again. “Enough. Broderick, go. Have a safe flight, mate. See you soon. Alex,” she adds, glaring at him, “stop being a jealous prick. Come inside and see your girlfriend.”
Silence.
Broderick finally turns to me, his eyes softening. “I’ll see you soon, El.”
Then he walks out, brushing past Alex without even glancing at him.
Alex doesn’t move for a long moment, his eyes still locked on the door like he could burn a hole through it.
Finally, he turns to me, his gaze burning, voice low. “I don’t like him.”
I let out a breath, dragging a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I gathered that.”
He steps closer, the heat rolling off him like a live wire. “Tell me you don’t feel anything for him.”
I hesitate, just for a second.
And he sees it.
My lips part, but nothing comes out, fingers tightening around the bouquet Broderick handed me as Alex takes another step closer. His frustration is palpable.
There’s a wild desperation in his eyes, searching mine for something he’s terrified is there.
“Do you?” he asks again, quieter this time. “Feel something for him?”
“No.” The word scrapes out of me.
“Tulips,” Alex says, his voice low, eyes narrowing at the bouquet in my arms. “Bold choice. You know they’re a symbol of love, right?”
Suddenly, the flowers feel heavier, weighted with unspoken meaning, as I set them carefully on the counter. My hands betray me with the faintest tremble, and somewhere deep inside me, the lid of the box labeled Broderick begins to rattle.
His hand shoots through his hair again, that exasperated, gesture he does when he’s coming apart at the seams.
