Page 85 of Hexed
“Okay?” He touches the metal across our laps like he’s testing its strength.
“Have you ever considered wearing crystals?” I ask.
He looks at me funny. “No.”
“Oh. Maybe you should. Could help, you know.”
“Hey,” he calls out to the worker, jiggling the bar. “Aren’t you supposed to check this thing, make sure it’s secure?”
Although his face looks calm and handsome as ever, I don’t miss the way he’s white-knuckling the bar he’s referring to.
The worker grumbles as he makes his way over and tugs harshly on it. When it doesn’t budge, he lifts his brows mockingly before he goes back to the control panel.
Enzo watches him blankly but says nothing else.
A wave of protectiveness washes over me, and I’m two seconds away from jumping up and throttling the guy for being such a dick.
The wheel jerks as it starts to move, and Enzo’s hand flies from where it’s gripping the bar to my thigh.
A whoosh of breath escapes me when he clamps down on my skin, his thick calloused fingers squeezing tightly, the veins pronounced, and even though it’s hidden by his suit, I know they trail up his sinewy forearm and accentuate the ink that covers his flesh.
A deep, sharp stab of arousal hits me like lightning.
The ascent of the wheel is slow, stopping and starting every few seconds as more people are unloaded and reloaded, and I try to gauge how Enzo’s hanging on.
He’s watching me intently, almost like he’s afraid of looking at anything else. He doesn’t remove his touch, and I don’t ask him to.
“It’s okay to be scared of things,” I remind him again.
He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze moving down to where he’s still holding on to my leg, and then back up. Finally, his jaw clenches and he nods.
“It’s what makes us human. What makes us real,” I continue.
“Some of us don’t have that luxury.”
“Because of who you are?” I press.
“Because of who I’msupposedto be.”
I soak in his words because that makes sense to me. Sometimes it’s not safe to show your weaknesses because if people think you’re human, then they’ll realize how fallible and fragile you are. I suspect Enzo’s world isn’t so different from mine in that regard.
“Well.” I hesitate, but then place my hand over his on my thigh. “How about when it’s just us, we drop that expectation?”
“That’s not real life,” he argues.
“So let’s pretend we’re in a different one.”
Something dark flashes in his eyes, and we jolt as we move again.
His gaze sneaks to the ground, the color draining from his face.
The guilt over making him come up here and, even worse, poking fun at what is obviously a serious phobia of his worms its way through me.
I grasp his cheek and turn his face toward mine.
“Don’t look down,” I demand. “Just look at me.”
Surprisingly, he listens. Our eyes lock, our faceswaytoo close to be anything other than inappropriate. But I don’t really care right now because at least if he’s focused on me, on whatever thisthingbetween us is, then he isn’t panicking.
