Page 9 of ILY
I fall to my knees and start scooping up the cash, shoving it back in the bag. It crinkles and crunches, the zipper breaking when I try to zip it back up. Damn thing. How old is this piece of shit?
My eyes start to water, and I swipe at them. This is all going sideways. I’m never going to get rid of Michael now.
Suddenly, I feel a presence settling in next to me.
“Hey, why are you upset?”
“Because I’m failing at life. That’s why. As you rudely pointed out, by the way. Out loud.”
“Sorry,” he says, then signs it. The first indication that he knows ASL as well. That my effort to make sure he had equal access to communication wasn’t a total bust. “How can I make it up to you?”
“By apologizing and telling me how hot and smart I am.”
He laughs and then quickly bites it back, leaning on his heels and assessing me. “You’re hot. I don’t know about smart though. Don’t know you well enough.”
My cheeks flame, and I look at him shyly through my lashes. “Well, I am smart, just so you know. I have a degree to prove it. And a job.” Well, Ihada job. He doesn’t need to know that part though.
He grins and then wets his lips again. “Just not street-smart, it seems. You are meeting a stranger in a seedy hotel to buy explosives.”
“Yes, well, I need them.” When I say this out loud to another person, it makes me realize that maybe I’m not that smart after all.
“You should never meet a person like this, you know. You could put yourself in all sorts of danger.”
“Well then, what should I do?”
“Negotiate. Don’t just show up at coordinates someone sends.”
“Noted.”
He continues to squat down next to me, me still on my knees, trying like hell not to cry again.
Too bad a single tear slips down my cheek. But before I can swipe it away, I feel his thumb touch my skin, dragging it away. I let out a soft gasp at the sensation of being touched by another person.
A hot person.
A hotman.
Our eyes meet, and his lips part. I can’t help it. My insanity wins over, and something inside of me snaps. I crash into him, forcing him onto his ass, my legs straddling his lap as I slam my mouth onto his.
He grunts, his lips firm against my own, his hands moving to my waist as he steadies me. But I’m frantic.
Overheated and turned on.
Depressed and lonely.
Craving this like I’ve never craved another man before. It’s odd, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I want him, and if the way he’s kissing me back is any indication, he wants me too.
Suddenly, he wrenches me away, his eyes wild, his hair slightly mussed from my hands. His chest is heaving, and I swear I can almost hear his heartbeat in his chest.
“Wait. We shouldn’t,” he says.
“Why not?” I croak, and he swallows.
“We just shouldn’t, Leaf.”
And then he gently sets me to the side and stands up. And without a backward glance, he stalks from the room. The door shuts behind him, and I sag onto the floor, trying to find the pieces of my ego he smashed.
Or maybeIsmashed. What was I thinking, rushing him like that? I never do that sort of thing. Mainly because I don’t want to get turned down like I just did. But in that moment, it seemed like he wanted it.
