Page 62 of Jump on Three

“Evelyn.”

“Yes?”

My forefinger curled tight into my palm with the need to nudge the soft skin beneath her chin and turn her face toward me, but I kept my hand where it was on my thigh. She didn’t have to look at me for me to say what I needed to.

“You’ve been following me, haven’t you?”

She stopped breathing. The hem of her hoodie was bunched tight around her fist, but otherwise, she didn’t move.

“Answer me,” I urged firmly.

Her gaze flicked sideways but didn’t quite hit me. “Why do you ask?”

“I want you to tell me.”

Her hoodie unraveled from her fist. She rubbed her fingers together several times then began wrapping it tight around her fist once more.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered.

Her face was flushed, advertising her lie brighter than a neon sign. Her showing up at Lyot hadn’t been some fantastic coincidence. She’d purposefully followed me there, and I could not fathom why.

“You do.”

She shook her head. “Ivan, I—”

“Don’t lie to me. I already know.”

The breath she took was deep and audible. Her exhale was slow, deflating not just her lungs but her chest and shoulders. The hem of her hoodie unraveled from her fist, and she rubbed her fingers together once, twice, then she moved her body, bringing her knee up on the seat and twisting her torso to face me. Her eyes didn’t land on mine. They were like lighthouse beacons, sweeping over me in a steady pattern, our gazes clashing in passing.

“I want to know why you go there. I wish I could get this out of my head, but I can’t. I tried. I really did, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You disappear in that black car three nights a week, always at the same time. Now I know you go to a club called Lyot, which means ice, but I do not know why you go there.”

I stared at her, unsure why my gut was clenching so fiercely. Her beacon paused on me then swept away again.

“I asked you before…before,” she said softly, her fingers seeking her hem again to twist. “You wouldn’t tell me. You evaded my question, which only drove me crazier. Was that why you wouldn’t tell me? To keep me guessing so I would be hooked?”

Another sweep. I didn’t get the chance to reply.

“Do you get sticky thoughts, Ivan? That was what my childhood therapist called them. It isn’t really an obsession, but an idea or question that goes splat on the surface of my brain like those slime hands you can throw on walls…or anything flat, really. My brain still works, but that sticky thought is attached, always there, until I find a way to distract myself from it or get an answer.”

Shit. Fuck. Fuck.

You are my sticky thought, Evelyn Kastanos.

She went on. “You said all these things to me in room three. You wanted me, but I don’t know you. In the time we were talking and texting, you never allowed me to know you. I shouldn’t be curious about a boy who’s very good at hiding, but like I said, sticky thoughts.”

I swallowed hard at the truth she’d just laid out before me. I thought she hadn’t been looking my way, but maybe she had been and there’d been nothing there for her to see.

“Have you followed me more than once?” I asked.

Her nod twisted my guts even tighter.

“How many times?”

She held up three fingers, and I pounded the heel of my hand against my forehead.

“When?” I gritted out.

“The last time was Saturday, but I didn’t actually follow you then since I already knew where you were going.”