Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Ella

Right.

This is enough.

Too much, really.

I'm not?—

Well, I'm old enough and experienced enough to not keep tossing myself into the emotional blender. I was dumb to try again—fool me once and all that.

I start to turn away.

"Where'd you get that one?"

Before I can ask get what and where, soft fingers are capturing my elbow, turning me back toward him. He halts then with excruciating gentleness and lifts the sleeve of my T-shirt. Frowning, I glance down, see a bruise blooming on the outside of my arm.

"Where did you get"—he lightly brushes his thumb over the bruise—" that from?"

My frown deepens, thinking back, and not remembering hitting it on anything. Then again, I run into things often enough that I don't always pay attention to it…or the bruises that form in my clumsy wake. The universe only created one graceful Adler, and that's not me. "I don't know," I say with a shrug. "Probably at the salon today, same as I got the other one" I'm always bumping into the corners of our sets of drawers and doorframes and the rows of sinks at the salon. Not to mention burning myself on my curling iron and dropping color on my clothes and?—

Well, like I said.

I'm not graceful.

He lifts my arm.

Higher. Higher. Up toward his face. Up toward his lips.

Until they press lightly against my skin. Over the bruise on my forearm…and the other on my bicep.

"You need to be careful," he murmurs.

I shiver—not because I'm cold, but because my nerves are alight—and my body drifts closer to his.

And maybe I'm a glutton for punishment, but I can't stand to walk away from him, can't stand the lost look in his eyes, the way they warm just at the edges when he doesn't realize I'm watching him watch me.

Plus, I can't resist celebrating his skill at shocking my brother.

First the quip then…

Riggs—quiet, grumpy, man-of-few-words Riggs —had kissed my brother to shut him up.

It didn't work for more than a few seconds, but…still.

Maybe I should be grossed out.

But all I could think when I'd watched it go down was…can I get some of that?

Except, longer and with open lips and lots of tongue and…well a real kiss to shut me up, like the one from his car, and not the smack he'd laid on Knox.

So, yeah, maybe I'm just that dumb or truly a glutton for punishment.

But I don't walk away.

I drift a little closer.

" You need to be careful," I say. "Taunting my brother like that."

One shoulder lifts, drops. "I can handle Knox."

"You sure about that?"

"Crystal."

The edges of my mouth tip up. "Well, I suppose we won't know if he wants to murder you or kiss you again until he follows through."

"On what?"

"On one of those two options—murder or locking lips."

A chuckle that coats my skin in dampened velvet. "He's not getting another kiss." That big shoulder lifts and drops again. "God knows I'm going to get enough shit in the locker room for that as it is."

"So why'd you do it?" I ask, curious.

His eyes come to mine. "I don't know."

Something occurs to me then and I cringe, embarrassment a sweeping wave.

"Is Knox who you—" I break off, unable to finish the words.

Fingers on my cheek. Reddened because I'm suddenly wondering…

Well, it's all twisted and confusing and?—

His hand shifts, cupping my jaw, tilting my head up. "It was just to shut him up," he says softly. "And maybe I wanted to see if I could shock you as much as you're always shocking me."

I study him closely. "Well," I whisper, "you've certainly proved you have shock abilities—the puck, that comment to Knox, the kiss?—"

I break off, not knowing for a second what kiss I'm talking about.

The one in the car?

Or the peck he'd laid on my brother?

I exhale, force myself to keep going. "—and I'm not admitting defeat, but I'm not sure my shock skills can keep up with yours."

" I think"—his thumb brushes over my cheek—"your shock skills are unparalleled."

We stand there like that for a moment, and although I'm aware of eyes on us, the conversation is dulled.

My focus is Riggs—and only Riggs.

"Why do you think I drink too much?" I blurt.

It's a dumb question, literally poking the bear.

I'm not an idiot. I love a drink, love the way it helps me feel loose and more like myself, love how it softens the day, the memories. Plus, I can't bring all of that shock value, the confidence, the always surprising everyone without it. I can't be myself, can't not give a fuck about what everyone else thinks—not without taking the edge off first.

Then it's easy to turn my attention to the outside world, to fix my clients' and friends' problems, to assist them over the bumps in the road. But focusing on myself? On my actions and laughter and the way I hold my hands and how my outfit looks on my body and if my weird cowlick in the back of my hair is showing and if one day, they'll all see through it and leave me, anyway?

That's utterly debilitating.

And the way Riggs is looking at me right now—with a complete and utter focus that burns into me, that threatens to see through my walls and tease out all of my secrets…makes me want to run.

"Never mind," I whisper, now utterly cognizant of the others in the room, playing another round of Ticket to Ride (a round I've been excluded from because I kick too much tiny, plastic train ass).

Riggs slants a glance over my shoulder, and for once, the two of us are in perfect harmony when he doesn't press me for answers.

"Are you tired?" he asks softly. "I can drive you home."

I'm his focus.

It's intense and unyielding and?—

"Come on, chérie ," he murmurs, taking my hand, making the decision for me.

The touch is a shock of sensation when his fingers wrap around mine, but not as much as the quiet way he's called me chérie.

Rough and with a hint of his French Canadian coming out.

I'd forgotten that the taciturn, grumpy man spoke French, and just the way that word rolls off his tongue has me melting a little, my body drifting closer to hers.

"I'm taking Ella home," he calls to the others.

I blink, look over to the game table, and don't miss that all of my friends are blatantly staring at me.

I half expect Knox to jump up and stop me…but that's a silly thought. We've never been like that, and I wouldn't appreciate him trying to control my life, not in this way. So, really, it's not a surprise that he just waves and calls in a singsongy voice, "Have fun, kids!" I narrow my eyes at him, clocking my brother's calculating gaze—which sends a blip of suspicion through me.

I also don't miss the curious glint in Nova's eyes as Riggs draws me over to the coatrack.

Nothing to be done about either of those things, not right now.

I'm leaving with Riggs and I don't want to mess it up, not this time.

Boots on, I spend a few seconds scratching Steve and murmuring sweet nothings into his goofy ears when he deigns to make his way to me to say goodbye, then I stand up and reach for my coat.

But Riggs is there already, slipping it onto my shoulders.

He bends and bestows his own scratches on Steve, who huffs out a snotty breath and runs back to Nova, clearly dismissing us.

Smiling, I watch him go.

Then I hear the lock on the front door click , the quiet whoosh as it opens, and feel the cold bite of the winter air.

My eyes drift up to Riggs's.

He pulls the door wider.

"Let's go, chérie ."