Page 72 of Hexed
Enzo ends up at the boardwalk, which is an interesting turn of events.
I sent Fisher home because I don’t want to be seen and two people are easier to spot than one, especially when one of those people has a bright blue mohawk and sticks out like a sore thumb.
Enzo and Scotty are walking down the pier, Enzo’s hands in his pockets while they chat. My stomach clenches tight when he laughs at something, throwing his head back, his tattoos peeking out from his shirt collar.
Since he and Scotty seem to be taking their time out for a stroll, I definitely think he was just trying to get out of the party planning.
But why use my uncle as an excuse?
I hang back for a few more minutes, until Scotty pats Enzo on the shoulder and they split. Enzo ventures off on his own, down onto the beach and farther along, until he’s at a hidden spot beneath a bridge and away from the tourists.
It’s that time of day when the rays don’t burn as bright and the ocean breeze cools, just before the sun sets. The sky is a beautiful orangey pink, and Enzo leans against one of the wooden posts, staring out at the water.
The urge to go interrupt him right away is strong, but I stay back and watch.
A small family plays down at the shore, and Enzo’s focus is lasered onto them, watching as a little boy squeals when his mom chases after him and spins him around, the water splashing at their feet.
My gaze volleys between the family and Enzo.
He seems fascinated by them. And he has this look on his face, an innocence that makes me feel like it isn’t E, the underboss and ultrahigh–net worth businessman watching the scene, but Enzo the boy.
There’s a longing, one I can spot a mile away because it’s the kind I feel in my soul.Do I look like that too?
It seems like a vulnerable moment, one I almost feel guilty about witnessing, but not guilty enough to keep myself from walking toward him. It’s a tugging sensation right in the pit of my stomach, a hook reeling me into him like a fish on the line.
“Pretty,” I say, walking up next to him and adopting a casual stance.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, staring out at the ocean.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
A small grin tilts his mouth. “I saw you the second you started tailing us.”
I scoff and look over at him fully. “No, you didn’t.”
He finally takes his eyes away from the happy family to stare at me. “I always see you.”
My chest draws tight, a heavy breath sticking in my throat, because what do I say tothat?
His gaze tracks me slowly, starting at my toes and dragging up my legs, over my knees, tickling my inner thighs and sending a shot of arousal through my core, up my middle, over my collarbone, until it hits my face again.
He licks his lips. “In fact, I can’t see anythingbutyou, and it’s fucking infuriating.”
My hand shoots up to rub at my neck, and my teeth sink into my lower lip, trying to offset the sudden flare of heat sucking me in like a vacuum.
Pleasure from his words cascades down my shoulders and wraps around me like a blanket, and I grasp it because itfeelsgood. Even if it’s wrong.Dangerous, even.
“You can’t say things like that,” I force out.
His sleeves are rolled up just past his elbow and the muscles on his forearms flex, making the ink on his skin move like it’s dancing. “There you go again, telling me what to do.”
“I’m not—” I stop myself, because I am, actually. “You don’t even know me.”
“Yeah.” He leans against the wooden beam. “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Iwantto know you.”
I swallow around the words stuck in my throat—I want to know you too—my thumb picking at my finger.
“That can’t happen,” I say with an undertone.
