Page 165 of Hate to Love You
From out of nowhere, Cal appears, whispering something to Trevor and pointing him toward another car. He then jumps into the driver’s seat of our car, and instantly his eyes find mine in the rearview mirror.
I can’t explain it, but something about his stare feels procedural, and calculating.
Eventually he tears his gaze from me and back to the road as he pulls away from the sidewalk.
The silence is deafening as Roman stares at the side of my face, willing me to look at him. After a few seconds I finally cave, and turn to face him. I watch him appraise me the same way Cal did, almost like I was a puzzle he needs to crack.
“Did you enjoy your little shopping trip?” Roman says. “On my dime?”
Laughing, I dig out his card, holding it out between my fingers for him to take, “Of course.”
“Keep it,” Roman states, waving me off before looking at Cal through the mirror.
“What?”
“Keep it,” he repeats, looking back at me with a smirk. “Besides, I happen to look forward to seeing you in whatever you purchased.”
My cheeks flush in response, and I look out the window to hide my face from him.
“I do have a question for you though,” he says, but doesn’t finish.
Turning back to him, I look up at him expectedly.
“What exactly did you buy from Arts Fortune?”
“Just a few sketch books, and pencils,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“A few… Abby, you spent nearly ten grand,” he laughs.
“Well, I wanted the best.”
“What for?”
“People commission me for tattoo sketches every now and then,” I shrug. “And since it’s art that goes on your skin, they need to be precise, and detailed.”
“Seriously?” He scoffs, his tone judgmental. “And you need ten-thousand-dollar pencils for that?”
“Yeah, I do,” I nod with a playful grin.
“What tattoos have you drawn?” He snorts.
“Well, you know the one on my back?” I say, flirtatiously batting my lashes at him. “The one that you had your mouth all over, and said you liked while you were thrusting inside me?”
He suddenly clears throat loudly, shooting a pointed glare at Cal in the mirror, as if silently telling him to forget he heard me say that.
“Yeah,” I say, raising my chin proudly. “I drew that.”
“Hmm…maybe you should draw me one,” he says, rubbing his chin. “You know, since I paid for the ten-thousand-dollar pencils.”
“What would—”
“Did you kill Igor?” He suddenly states, interrupting me.
His tone is flat, and his jovial attitude and expression has evaporated in an instant, nearly giving me whiplash.
My heart stops, and I stare at him, my jaw hanging open as I laugh quietly to myself, feigning surprise.
“What?”