Page 43 of Dangerous Pursuit
"Oh, fuck me," followed by a "Ha!" coming from somewhere behind me has my heart stopping momentarily as I straighten up at once, take a sharp step back, and catch Xander's puzzled expression from the corner of my eye as my body snaps around only to find Sawyer and Blake's faces, pokingfrom around the corner, one above the other like they're cartoon characters.
"Oh fuck off," I mutter and put one hand on the left side of my chest, my heart pumping overtime against my palm. "Trying to kill me, or what?"
I move to my left, stopping by Xander's side as Blake and Sawyer emerge from around the corner, finally becoming full humans again.
Sawyer grins like they announced Super Bowl is now a monthly event while Blake rolls his eyes and, sighing, pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, fishes out a twenty and slams it on Sawyer's outstretched palm.
"No," Xander says before my brain can compute. "You didn't. Youbeton us?"
I can feel my eyes grow large.
Blake has the decency to look at the floor, his shoes suddenly fascinating.
Sawyer's still grinning. "Come on, man. Easiest money I've ever made."
I'm just about to tell him where to shove it when Xander's hand shoots forward, and he points an accusatory finger at Blake. "You!"
Blake looks down, but the corner of his mouth twitches, Xander's antics apparently worth every last buck of the twenty. Xander doesn't fail to notice. "You. You motherfucking—"
They're gone before he can come up with a noun, and the second the last heel disappears around the corner, Xander turns to face me, his expression changing from murderous to a whole different type of intense almost instantly, and it's the first timetonight, hell, first time in days when I see him, really see him without the ugly mask of anger he's been hiding behind.
"So, I was thinking." His voice drops an octave and is now smooth and heavy as he steps closer, as close as he can get without physically touching me. "Would you like to continue hating me at my place?"
Chapter Sixteen
Liam
"I THINK I changed my mind," I joke, staring at twenty square feet of flashy purple that clearly don’t belong. Although if I'm being honest, it's the purple that stares at me, and it's just…unsettling.
"Is that so?" Xander throws over his shoulder as he unlocks the door at the end of the hallway on the second floor of a small apartment building on the outskirts of the city. I refrained from making a comment when Xander gave the cab driver his address. I knew the area—filled with forests of same-looking buildings, too-small playgrounds and decent enough schools, with rent prices sitting perfectly betweenBitch, nobody can afford thatandThe nearest town is five hours away. It just didn’tfeellike Xander, his vibrant and chaotic self seemingly out of place among yards and yards of same-looking doors separating same-feeling lives. That is until we reached the end of the hallway where Xander has just unlocked the door to his place. Because Xander's door is purple. "Oh, well. My bed's too small for both of us, anyway," and before I can respond, he cracks the door open, sneaks inside and shuts it in front of my face.
I try not to smile too much at his antics, as I'm sure he's watching through the peephole, and knock. I don’t hear anyfootsteps, and it's getting hard not to laugh as I picture Xander on the other side, checking the clock, waiting till a fashionable number of seconds passes, whatever counts as fashionable in this particular scenario. I glance down to the doormat that reads,Shoo. Haven't had my coffee yet.
"Who is it?" he finally chirps from two feet away.
"A barista."
When the door swings open a second later, I'm met with a warm grin. "Finally."
The second my eyes land on Xander, I'm locked in. My day fades into nothingness as I take him in, one forearm propped against the doorframe, his other hand resting on his hip. The graphite suit jacket is now gone, and he skipped two top buttons of his dress shirt, its sleeves rolled up, the cool shade of white contrasting with the golden hue of his skin. He opens the door wider and steps to the side to let me in. Unnecessarily. I want him on my route. I need him there.
Sucking in my lower lip, I step inside, my eyes locked on Xander's. God, he looks edible as he slowly, so painfully slowly, takes a step back, and then another, his lips slightly parted, curled into a calculated smile, letting me chase him, pursue him in this slow motion race of—
"Shit, sorry," I mutter when my foot hitssomething, effectively killing the mood. I glance down to where I just kicked a green bean bag chair. My gaze bounces to an unusually low table. Scattered on the floor around it are several large, round pillows, each a different shade of red.
I blink, take a proper look around and—
"Holy hell. How'd you do that?"
"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents," Xander says while I'm busy doing a three-sixty, taking in my surroundings, my mouth hanging open.
From the neatly placed area rugs, to the abundance of small lamps, to the entire collection of fancy-shaped pillows on the bed, everything in Xander's small studio seems to be curated like it's been competing for the Architectural Digest award, the mixture of intense colors somehow easy on the eye, one item complimenting the next.
"May I?" I ask, and begin my tour without waiting for the answer.
I round the giant green bean bag and head left, where a small but neatly kept kitchenette is filled with fancy, yet unused-looking supplies. The area is separated from the living space with a love seat, followed by the low table with three large candles in the middle, the large pillows, and the bean bag.
"You done?" Xander asks from somewhere behind my back as I walk past a queen bed, shoved against the wall opposite to the kitchenette, amusement shining through his voice.
