Page 44 of The Fake Divination Offense
He doesn’t say anything.
“But if you want this to stay a PR front,” I continue, “it can. It’s your choice, Alexo.” What the hell; at this point, just say it: “I want you to be happy.”
His head tips.
One corner of his mouth lifts in the barest seed of a smile that, quite frankly, I don’t deserve. The upper hallway’s few grainy bulbs cast us in more of that sick interrogation-room yellow, but he’s still the most stunning person I’ve ever seen, all fire and passion trapped in a small body.
He holds the garbage bag out. “Carry this for me?”
I take it instantly. Wait—is this a dismissal? Is he saying he wants me to take out the trash as Itake out the trash, i.e., chuck myself out of his building?
But he jerks his head for me to follow and starts up the hall, and I hurry after him like an infatuated sap.
Chapter Six
Alexo leads me to the parking lot and points at the dumpsters behind the townhouse. He stays on the sidewalk, and I jog for them, not liking him out of my sight in this neighborhood—or at all. My footsteps crunching on the gravel is the only sound around us, broken by the occasional bout of music from a building farther down and a car engine revving at the intersection up the street.
By the time I’m back to him, he’s got his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, his head tipped to the night sky washed clean of stars from the same city light intrusion that casts the area in a dreamlike gray.
He swings his gaze not to me, but to the empty parking lot, his head moving in a slow refusal of something unsaid.
“He left,” he growls at the lot, aboutthat guy, I realize, and I stuff my fisted hands in my hoodie’s pocket to hide how I curl them. “He yelled at me for—” He stops, chews the remainder of the sentence. One of my fingers pops. “And thenheleft. He left me here, andyoushow up, and he’sgone.”
With a frustrated shout, Alexo whirls, hands in his hair. He paces and shouts again, and I watch him the same way he’s always watching me. Studying. Learning.
A hundred questions stack up in my throat, waiting to explode, to demand answers of Alexo. But I force myself to swallow them one by one. I willnotlose myself again, not tonight. I have reached the max on what unhinged behavior I’ll allow.
Besides, asking questions would only serve me right now, and Alexo’s clear irritation swerves sharply into something far too close to grief when he cups his hands behind his neck and rolls his eyes shut.
“Do you want to come somewhere with me?” is the only question I let myself ask.
He turns to me and snorts. “Well, you’re a polite stalker slash kidnapper, so at least you’ve got that going for you.”
The memory of Thio saying I was the politest striptease he’d ever had immediately has my brain picturing doing a stripteasefor Alexo, and I’m glad the dim lighting out here hides the sudden blush I feel tearing up my cheeks.
“Not kidnapping you, I promise,” I say.
“But you admit to the stalking.”
“Unfortunately, the evidence is a bit damning.”
Alexo laughs, letting his hands drop from around his neck, and I soak up the sound of his laughter like a shriveled plant in a drought.
He sighs. “You know what? Sure. Let’s go somewhere. Why not?” He throws the last question at the empty parking lot, and my stomach twists.
“If this will get you in more trouble—”
“I’m twenty-three years old.” He glares at me, fury blunt in his eyes. “I don’tget in trouble.I don’t answer to him. Iwon’t. Let’s go.”
He marches off down the sidewalk.
In the wrong direction.
I clear my throat and point. “My car is—”
Alexo swivels around and resumes his frustrated stomping the right way, scowling to the cracked sidewalk.
Around the block, my car is intact, and Alexo stares at it for a long beat.
