Page 15 of Then Came You

"I feel guilty that you're giving up your life for me. You've sacrificed so much already. You deserve a break."

"Tori. Listen to me. You have nothing, and I mean nothing, to feel guilty about. We're going to get through this, and when we do, we're both going to go to uni, get kick-ass jobs, and make something of our lives. All I need you to do is suss out the housing situation and let me take care of the rest." I kneel on the floor so she can see how serious I am that she isn't a burden.

When she's finished and back in her room, I promise to check in tonight.

A phone is a necessary expenditure in my books. I'd sooner go without food than my phone. I'm on the cheapest plan there is, and the model is so old it practically burns my palm after 20 minutes of using it, but it's a phone with the ability to text, call, browse the web, play free games, link to social media, and, most importantly, keep track of all the incoming bills.

Chapter 6

Row

"Row!" Trish calls.

I audibly let go of the sigh I've been holding, leaning against the chipped counter in the back. "You have a customer," I say, my voice reflecting the exhaustion of six non-stop hours without a break or a morsel of food. The only relief from the searing pain in my feet and throbbing rib over the past ten minutes has been folding towels.

It's almost closing time, which adds to my frustration. There's a special place in hell—a fiery pit even the devil's monsters fear—for people who arrive just before we shut our doors.

"Be out in a minute!" I shout back, trying to keep annoyance out of my voice as I pummel a towel.

Gazing at my reflection in the mirrored cupboards, I see a girl on the verge of giving up. I am but a shadow of the girl I used to be, shoulders slumped under the weight of an invisible burden too heavy to share. Deep lines etch across my forehead, and sometimes my eyes appear lifeless, as if I'm on autopilot, yearning to surrender as the captain of my own ship.

When I walk back inside the salon, I find Trish grinning like a Cheshire cat. Her maniacal expression tells me exactly why she's so amused.

Blade.

Sweet baby Jesus, the swarm of wasps he elicits in my stomach just by standing there. Us mere mortals are no match for his godliness. He's either immortal or created in a lab somewhere because he's too perfect to be human.

I stop dead in my tracks, half-wondering if he's an illusion.

"Blade has specifically requested your services this evening," Trish says with humour in her voice, well aware that he wants something more. I'm unable to tear my gaze away from him, feeling the heat of his presence affecting me. "He's even given a very generous tip for staying open late. I assume this is okay with you?" She winks conspiratorially at him before tossing the keys on the counter and blowing me a kiss.

My mouth opens and shuts like a goldfish gasping for air, my trembling hands dropping the stack of towels with a nervous thud.

He hasn't taken his heated gaze off me, and my insides feel like they're filled with lava. Trish has long gone, but I still can't make my feet move or my mouth form coherent words.

As closing time nears, I change back into my baggy Pretty Reckless tee, which swallows my frame, and it inconveniently covers my leather skirt, making me look like I'm just wearing a top as a dress.

Whore much?

I won't lie; I look like a hot hooker Barbie. But I wonder if it's too immature and slutty for someone like him? If the unrestrained lust in his eyes and his inability to string a sentence together are anything to go by, I'd say he's lapping up my rather lascivious look, which bolsters my confidence a bit.

Abandoning the mountain of towels, I teeter over to him with my hands on my hips. When I'm centimetres away from him, I remember just how much he makes my stomach flutter and how he's the first thing in a long time that has made me feel hopeful again, like maybe my luck is turning around.

Damn, he's something else.

Today, he's in navy chinos and has forgone the blazer, wearing a white button-up collared shirt that's undone at the top, providing me with the most delicious view of an Adam's Apple I've ever seen. All I want to do is put my lips to it and suck it.

Don't even get me started on his forearms. Can you even be infatuated with forearms? Is that a thing? It's a thing now.

The first and only time we met, I thought I caught a glimpse of tattoos, but I convinced myself I must have been seeing things. But nope, here they are etched proudly on his flesh. I want to reach out and run my fingers over the tapestry of rainbow lines woven on his body, but my brain is still all fried and frazzled that he's actually here.

I really hope he isn't an apparition because that'd be devastating.

"Hi." Without thinking, I rise on my tippy toes and hook my arms around his neck, pulling him toward me, forgetting all about the painful discomfort in my ribs.

The embarrassment of hug-attacking him hasn't caught up yet because I proceed to massage the base of his neck, feeling the coarse hairs on my fingertips.

When I realise what I've done, I pull away only to be pulled back in by Blade's arms, threaded tightly behind my back. One hand stabilises my neck, while the other is placed dangerously close to my backside.

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