Read episode 7 here: http://bit.ly/allureserial
The waitress walked away to put in our drink order, and I didn’t waste any time. I’d already wasted enough and Demi wasn’t in the mood to indulge me much longer.
Leaning forward, arms on the table, I went to reach for her hand but thought better of it. The next words out of my mouth would dictate if she ever reached out for me again.
Or not.
“It . . . it wasn’t just me and Monica.”
Stillness.
An eerie, unpredictable stillness.
That was Demi’s reaction.
And the comprehension that hardened her stare even more.
That hardened another part of the innocence I’d been chipping away at since the moment I decided to taste her.
I opened my mouth to continue—
Demitra held up a finger, composure admirably controlled. “I think I rather wait for those drinks before you go on.”
So we did. An awkward, strained silence consumed us, and we sat there, the coconut shrimp forgotten.
It seemed to take forever, with me drowning in the sight of her, and Demi studiously ignoring me, head turned.
The vein on the side of her neck pulsed violently—I wanted to reach inside her and somehow calm her raging heart.
Mine wasn’t much better, but it was my fault she was going through this.
Reckless.
Selfish.
Arrogant.
I was that and more.
And like a ricocheting bullet, the consequences were coming back around and hurting the most innocent bystander of all.
The waitress finally returned and placed our drinks on the table.
“Keep them coming,” Demi ordered, reaching for hers.
The waitress eyed us both, before hightailing it out of there.
I’m sure she could see what anyone else that looked at us could: a couple being torn apart by distance.
Even though it was only a table standing between us, the magnitude of my mistakes stretched much, much further.
“Demi.” I picked up my own drink and brought it to my mouth. “I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to tell you how much.”
“It’s fine,” she mumbled behind her drink. “It’s my fault. That’s what I get for falling in love with one of the craziest bachelor’s in the city.”
I choked on my swallow.
Not the first time she did that to me, and I doubted it would be the last. “So you’re finally admitting it?” I asked, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “You’re finally admitting you love me?”
She poured every ounce of her anger into chugging that drink, and it was gone with a speed that concerned me. “You know damn well I do!” She slammed the glass on the table.
On the one hand, I didn’t want her drinking like that.
On the other, my confession had barely begun, and I happened to have a knack for angering my woman like few ever could.
That waitress better have been running over here with her next drink.
“You ran away instead of saying it back,” I explained in as calm a tone as possible. “Can you blame a man for doubting?” I reached for my glass.
Gone.
In Demi’s hand faster than I could blink.
“How the fuck would you feel if it were me in this seat, confessing to having threesomes with other men? And one of them happened to be a crazy ex stalking me and threatening me?” she hissed, the venom of her attack hitting its aim with perfect precision. Anddddd my drink was gone.
This was the part where I needed to shut my damned mouth up, but I’d promised her honesty, and I loved her too much not to live up to that promise. “I’d be going insane—”
“Exactly.”
“And the images in my head would be haunting me day and night—”
Ice blue irises flashed with flames more unholy than any fire hell could ever house. “Exactly.”
“I’d want to kill any stupid motherfucker you ever touched—”
Her next interruption was an “Mhm” and a jerky nod.
That one almost ripped a smile out of me.
I was smart enough to somehow hold it back. “Baby, I’d rain hell upon this city. But one thing I wouldn’t do is let you go.” I snatched her hand in mine. “I wouldn’t be able to.”
She jerked it back. Staring to the side, she blinked back tears, and her pulse pounded twice as hard in her neck. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what? Touch you?” She had to be fucking kidding me with that.
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