Page 62 of The Persistence of Thornes
Quinn grins. “You look pretty.”
Casen looks me up and down and nods. “I like the dress.”
“Thank you. Caleb got it for me.”
They exchange a look and bark out identical laughs.
Apprehension skitters down my spine. “What?”
Casen pats my arm, then steps back, headed for the stairs. “He’s so down bad for you.”
“No, he’s not,” I scoff.
Quinn snorts. “We’re not blind.” He follows his twin. “See you later.”
Once they’ve disappeared, I take a moment to gather myself. They’ve got me even more out of sorts, and I need to focus if I want to make it down the stairs in these heels without rolling an ankle.
Halfway down, holding on to the banister for dear life, I realize I could have just taken them off.
I’m so focused on not falling that I don’t even notice Caleb waiting for me at the landing until he lets out a low “fuck.”
“What?” I freeze, heart lurching.
Did my lipstick smear on the way down? Did I leave a clip in my hair?
“You look … beautiful.”
I look down, assessing myself, trying to imagine what Ilook like from his perspective. Beautiful is not the first adjective that comes to mind. Awkward seems more fitting.
Rather than argue, I decide to take the compliment graciously. “Thank you.”
When I finally reach him, he offers me his hand. Even like this, he towers over me. He’s got to be six-foot-two.
He smells minty like he just brushed his teeth, and his face is freshly shaved. I want to run my fingers over his cheeks to determine whether they’re as smooth as they look.
Before I can do it—thankfully, since I probably would have made a fool of myself—he clears his throat. “Your brothers are already across the street. Do you need anything before we go?” He entwines our fingers, tightening his hold.
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. When I try again, my voice is embarrassingly breathy. “I don’t think so.”
His touch alone causes my heart to jump and goose bumps to erupt up and down my arms. Outside, he opens the passenger door and waits for me to buckle my seat belt before shutting the door. I squeeze my eyes closed and count to five. When I open them again, he’s sliding into the driver’s seat. My heart flutters as his scent wafts over me. Men like Caleb don’t exist in my world, so while the gesture—opening my door for me—is a simple one, it packs a powerful punch.
Would my mom have been different if a man had treated her right?
Not that the way a man treats a woman should have amajor influence on her wellbeing, but I wonder if it would have helped. Or maybe it’s easier to blame her behavior on bad situations than it is to accept that she’s just a horrible person.
“Are you up for DJing again?” He holds his phone out to me.
I take it, noting how much heavier it is than mine. Probably because of the thick, expensive case.
I cue up a playlist and place his phone in the cupholder, then I slip off my heels. If I’m going to wear them all night, I’d rather delay the pain they’ll inflict for as long as I can. “Do I get to know where we’re going now?”
His shirt rustles with a roll of his shoulders. “I suppose. You’re not going to jump out of a moving vehicle, are you?”
A small huff escapes me. “Should I?”
“I hope not.” With a laugh, he rubs his jaw, but when he speaks again, his voice is subdued. “We’re going to a ballroom dance class.”
My stomach lurches. Oh yeah, I’m definitely contemplating jumping out of the car.
