Page 48 of Splintered Desire

“We, as in me and you,” I clarify, and her gaze moves down, all the way to my feet, before it works its way back up, and she meets my gaze once again, her eyes narrowed and unimpressed.

“Pass,” she says, and I know what she’s about to do before she does it. That doesn’t explain what I do, though.

As she pushes the door closed, I move, grabbing the doorframe and putting my fingers between it and the door.

I grit my teeth as the door makes contact, but it doesn’t last long before she yanks it open again, or as far as she can with that stupid lock.

“Are you out of your mind?” she hisses, her eyes wide. I don’t answer, but I’m not sure I need to. She knows my brothers; she has to know by now that we have a few screws loose. Though I will admit this is unusual behavior for me.

Something about her closing the door and putting that barrier between us didn’t sit right with me.

“It wasn’t a request, Zela. The rehearsal is only days away, and you don’t own a single dress. So we’re going to go and get you something nice to wear so that you don’t ruin this for our parents.”

It’s a low blow; I know it, and so does she, given the flinch.

As much as she might despise us, she loves her father, and I’m pretty sure she loves our mother, too.

What’s not to love? She’s a wonderful woman, and despite my reservations about Patrick and his interest in her at the start of their relationship, it’s impossible to deny they really do love each other.

Mother deserves this, and I won’t let anyone ruin it for her, not even my soon-to-be sister.

She chews her lip, and I can see her considering her next move, her mind going through all the options as if she has a choice.

“I can take the bus…” she blinks a few times, trailing off before she glares up at me. “How do you know I don’t own a dress?” She demands, finally catching what I said.

“Lucky guess.” I brush off her question and watch her jaw tick.

It’s a lie; I know it, and I’d bet she does too, but she can’t really prove it. Anyone who knows her would assume she doesn’t own a dress, with the way she dresses.

That’s the point after all.

We stand staring at one another, neither willing to back down, at a stalemate of sorts, but I’m a patient man.

“Ugh! Fine, give me ten minutes.”

“Five,” I counter because I can, and again my cock throbs when she bares her teeth at me and honestly growls in annoyance.

“I fucking hate you.”

“The feeling is completely mutual, I assure you. Now move your ass. The clock is ticking, and I’m wasting enough time on you as it is, Zela.”

Her name tastes like a sin, and I curse my brother to the lowest ring of hell for sending me to do this as I pry my fingers from the doorframe and allow her to close it.

I have no doubt this shopping trip will test me in more ways than one.

The drive to the shop is only about twenty minutes, yet it feels like much more with Zela beside me. She’s wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt that are probably four sizes too big on her, a beanie, a lot like my own, pulled low over her head, and a pair of chunky old headphones over it.

She looks homeless, or at the very least, like she lives in the worst parts of town with the squatters.

So what the fuck does it say about me that I can’t seem to keep myself from glancing her way every few seconds?

Being beside her is unsettling in all the worst ways. I’d much rather take Tank to buy a fucking dress than this.

Maybe it’s because I know what’s underneath those clothes she tries to use as armor?

If only that were it; I’d rather cut my own tongue out than admit it aloud, but I’d been captivated with her from the moment she walked out the back door the day she crashed into our lives.

“Why are we here? I can’t afford this.” Our quiet ride is interrupted by her snap of annoyance, and I roll my eyes because we both know she can, though it would probably put a nice dent in her funds. “Just take me to the mall, Isaac.”