Page 23 of Collide
“You like Lord of the Rings?” he asks, smirking as he shakes his head and runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. My heart stutters slightly—his jawline is sharp, his features strikingly handsome. Those eyes of his pierce right through me, leaving my face burning with a sudden rush of heat.
God, he might be the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life.
“I do,” I mumble, embarrassed at being caught staring. Quickly, I shove my hand into my purse, rummaging through it as a distraction, finally pulling out my phone.
Shit.
Five missed calls from Philippa, three from Riley, one from Mark, and a long, relentless chain of unread messages.
17:15–Pip
Do you have dinner plans? Andrew and I are going to SORA – you and Riley should join us for sushi. xo. P.
17:20–Riley
Scored the interview! I’m so excited! Bye bartending hello art gallery! Drinks tonight let’s celebrate!
18:45–Riley
You screening calls? How’s the studio, Pip wants to go to SORA! Sushi, sake then dancing?
18:59–Mark
See you at the studio on Thursday. Invite in calendar.
19:25–Pip
We’re at SORA, table by the bar! Sushi time yum!
19:30–Riley
Still at the studio? We’re here! Should I order ahead?
20:00–Pip
I’m getting worried. Please answer!
20:40–Riley
So you’ve either been eaten by a bear or you’re with someone—CALL ME!
21:30–Pip
Where are you?
Oh, fuck, shit!
The clock on my phone says it’s past midnight. If I reply now, it’ll wake them. I’ll wait to reach out in the morning. Dropping my phone to my side, I peek up to see Alex, still hovering by my bedside, his face washed with concern, guilt, and something else I can’t quite pinpoint.
Oh, God. A face so handsome, too flawless—like it was carved for a world I’ll never touch. The kind of beauty that leaves you stranded mid-sentence, forgetting how to breathe. Could I trust such a face?
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. I don’t want to seem ungrateful for his help, but I’m sure he’s got better things to do than wait around on me.
“I guess.” His lips quirk up into a smile, then he shrugs. “But I’d like to make sure you’re alright.” He takes a seat in the empty visitor chair by my bedside.
His response catches me off guard. He wants to make sure I’m okay? Most likely out of obligation, avoiding a lawsuit if he can.
I cock my head to the side and it throbs. “You don’t have a habit of assaulting random strangers, do you?” I say softer, making up for my earlier comment.
