Page 108 of Chasing Ruin
“What?” I ask, softer this time.
My voice startles her. She flinches before quickly pulling herself together. “N-Nothing!”
I narrow my eyes at her, unconvinced.
Her gaze darts away a second too fast. Like she got caught thinking something she shouldn’t have.
Christ. How many other men is she going to notice before she even looks at me?
I huff quietly, dragging a hand over the back of my neck.
Yeah. Good luck with that.
I glance down at myself, then back at her.
Right now, I probably don’t even register as a man to her. More like some loyal mutt trailing behind her every step. A fucking hairless Chihuahua.
A few minutes later,I’mthe one sipping port wine from a fancy-ass glass I didn’t even know existed in our club.
The couch is big enough for Charlotte and me, but I can feel the warmth of her presence just a few feet away.
She’s sitting sideways, back resting on a throw pillow at the armrest. Feet up, covered in adorable fuzzy socks.
Her head snaps up to find me watching her like the stupid lovesick fool I am. My mistake for thinking that her phone was keeping her occupied enough that she hadn’t noticed. “Stop staring at me,” she says, but there’s no heat in her tone. “Or would you rather guard me from outside my door?”
I clear my throat, gingerly picking the glass back up. “Sorry.” Then I take a heavy gulp, the wine sloshing down with the whiskey I had earlier.
The buzz in my head gives me pause. Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking while on guard either.
Silence takes over. Enough that I can feel the thudding of my heart against my throat. I haven’t been in her presence in an isolated environment this long—not since the lockdown the day of the ambush.
I’ve made sure to steer clear whenever I’m guarding her. Staying a good five feet away. But I couldn’t refuse the wine she offered me a few minutes ago.
Hell, I’m no different than Shane in her eyes.
“That Mihai guy,” she blurts out suddenly, pulling my gaze toward her wine-flushed face. “He said… why did he say that you’re…”
“In love with you?” Fuck. That’s not how I’d wanted to confess. I’ve only come to terms with it since Mihai so bluntly pointed it out.
I knew my feelings were intense and unwavering. But I hadn’t labeled them. Not because I was unsure. But because they didn’t help anyone.
Voicing them was equally useless if she couldn’t even look at me without her eyes glazing over, with remembered hurt.
She nods, her posture gaining some alcohol-induced confidence. “Yep,” she says, popping thep. “How did he know? Who did you tell?”
“I didn’t,” I tell her with a small smile.
“But then,” she says, a V forming on her forehead. “Why would he…”
I shrug with one shoulder. “Maybe it’s because of how I look at you. I’m trying, Charlotte, but I slip up.”
“Youreallythink you’re in love with me?” She deadpans.
My stomach sinks at how easily dismissible my claim is for her.
I nod, my throat closing up. Words are meaningless when she won’t even believe them. Especially the ones I wish to tell her. But I’m trying to not blatantly confess and ruin her wine night.
“Ruin,” she says softly. Even if a part of me lights up at my name crossing her lips, my chest hurts at the pity lining her tone. “You… you don’t, okay? It’s probably because you spent so much time—err—stalking me.”
