Dirty Headlines(61)

“I want to go home.”

“Chucks…”

His phone began to vibrate for the third time. Célian muttered, “Jesus Christ” and shoved it in the duffel bag, zipping it shut and throwing it against the tree.

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Hey, hey…”

I stood and began to clean everything up. He didn’t say anything else until we’d arrived at his building. I continued toward the train station, and he groaned, easily catching up with my steps.

“Let me get your ass home.”

“Leave me alone, Célian.” I stopped. Hot anger bubbled and sizzled behind my ribcage. “Huh? How about that? How about stop doing this thing where you treat me like I mean something, only to go and marry someone else? Because it doesn’t matter that you don’t love her, or touch her. If anything, it is much, much worse. You’re not giving up on us—whatever we are—for some great love. You’re canceling it for some sick need to get back at your father. And yes, falling into Milton’s arms would have been wrong, but wrapping your arms around Lily is nothing short of disastrous. So don’t you dare lecture me.”

“The asshole fucked my fi—”

“Yes. I heard. Many, many times. So what if he did?” I cut him off, balling my hands into fists. “Him doing something wrong doesn’t give you the right to do something even worse.” I pushed his chest. Jesus Christ—what was I doing?

Jesus, filing his nails: “Using my name to excuse yourself of bad behavior, as per usual.”

“He was the one who sent Phoenix to Syria. He was the one who insisted we keep it from her and keep them apart. But somehow her death is my fault?” he yelled in my face, as if I was the one accusing him. “Fuck. That.”

“Stop the blame game, Célian. Every relationship you touch wilts. Every connection you make perishes. I don’t want to burn. I want to flourish. I deserve to bloom.”

I turned around again, heading for the station. This time he grabbed my wrist so hard I thought he was going to yank my arm off. I think he realized it, too, by the way he withdrew his hand quickly and gathered me into a hug—a hug I wanted to reject but chose to drown in, a hug I knew would catch me the right way if I ever fell, from a man who’d made no promises to be there when I needed him.

I wrapped my arms around his body, he buried his face in my hair, and for a few long seconds, we didn’t say anything. Every bad feeling was crushed between our pressing chests.

“Weren’t you the one who said you can’t fall in love?” he sneered after a few beats, cocking his head sideways. “What happened to that?”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“I care.” He took a step back, slapping his fist over his chest. “I should have been spending time with your father today. Instead, I took you on a goddamn date,” he spat the word out like it was poisonous.

I couldn’t even deal with the idea of him hanging out with my dad on a regular basis. When did that start happening?

“Know when the last time I took someone on a date was? Sixteen. Pretty sure I did that for a hand job. Since then, I don’t have to try. I’ve never tried.”

I snorted, too aware of the fact that an audience had gathered around us. “Should I feel special right now?”

His jaw locked, and his eyes darkened, like he’d remembered who he was. Who I was. “At least have the decency to be honest with yourself, Chucks. You don’t want me to care. You want me, period.”

I turned around and gave him the one thing he did not unrightfully yet claim.

My back.





“All I’m saying is he’s like a half-priced facelift in an unregistered clinic in Eastern Europe. I would still do it, even knowing it’s deadly.” Grayson tossed a piece of Romaine lettuce into his mouth and chewed loudly.

We were sitting at Le Coq Tail on our lunch break—me, him, Ava, and Phoenix. It had been a few days since my failed date—or whatever that was—with Célian, and in a moment of weakness I’d decided to confide in my close friends about the affair. Although, suffice it to say, they’d already had a pretty good idea.

“Trust me, girl, we can all see Célian’s appeal.” Ava sucked hard on the straw swimming in her glass of Diet Coke. “But consider it your official intervention. After we got a first-row seat to the shitshow called your relationship, I can honestly say you need to put a lid on that thing before your crazy starts to simmer.”

I bumped my fists together twice, Friends-style. “I’m not crazy.”

I was seventy-percent sure of that statement.

Ava clucked her tongue. “Neither was Lily. I think it’s something about the Laurent dick. They make their women unbalanced. I heard Célian’s mother is not the sanest, either.”

“We’re casual.” I tried another tactic.

Gray pouted and rolled his eyes. “Is that why he casually claimed your ass a la Khal Drogo saving his princess from an army of savages when you had lunch on our floor last week? Admit it. You got your boss pussy-spelled.”

“That’s not a word,” Phoenix pointed out, pointing his sandwich at Grayson. “But it damn straight should be.”

“What do you think?” I turned to Phoenix.