Read Online A Little Too Much by Lisa Desrochers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Desrochers
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dark gaze giving way to panic. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I spit. “I had things under control, you know? I didn’t need you to save me. I’ve never needed you to save me.”
He winces and I close my eyes against the unwelcome memory.
Alessandro holding me. Wiping my tears .
“I’ve never needed you,” I repeat, disgusted by the tears I feel pricking the backs of my eyes. I am not going to cry in front of him—or anyone—ever again.
He picks up my shoes and lays them on the sidewalk at my feet. “Let me take you home.”
I step into them and start walking, ignoring him as best I can. But I don’t stop him when he keeps stride with me.
I know I told Alessandro I didn’t need him, but I’m not sure it’s true. That whole thing shook me up—though I’ll never admit it to him. My heart is racing, and adrenaline is still pouring into my bloodstream. I force myself not to shake, or blow out a nervous breath, or show any signs of weakness as we walk the three blocks to the subway. We wait in silence for the D train, then climb on. It’s not until I stand to make the transfer at Columbus Circle twenty minutes later that I think to ask. “Where do you live?”
He follows me off the train onto the platform. “West Village.”
“You’re going the wrong way.”
The hint of a smile flits over lips that I’m just now realizing are full and red and perfect. “I know.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know you’re safely home.”
I just stand here on the platform, staring at him, as the train whooshes past and disappears into the tunnel.
“Why?”
His eyes narrow with his confusion. “I just—”
“No. I mean . . . why all of it?” I say, flicking my wrist at him. “Why did you find me? Why did you agree to come out tonight? Why are you even bothering with me?”
He catches his lips between his teeth, thinking. Finally, he blows out a breath and scratches the back of his head. “You meant something to me, Hilary. You were important to me once. I just needed to know you were okay. I needed to see for myself.” He shakes his head. “You were never supposed to know I was here.”
God, I wish I didn’t know he was here. I narrow my eyes at him and spin for the stairs, feeling all my anger bubbling up and spilling over. How could he possibly think he could know how broken I am just by looking? I’ve spent eight years learning to hide it. “And am I? Do I have your stamp of approval?”
He stops me with a hand on my arm. “That’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft, and when I spin to face him, the look in his eye tugs at my heart—sends me eight years into my past. Tears press at the backs of my eyes again, and damn him .
“I’m going to catch the one,” I say, waving an arm up the concourse toward my train. “You should head back.”
His eyes scan me again, lingering over my legs. He bites the corner of his lower lip and looks up at my face. “I’d like to see you again sometime when we can talk.”
“You always wanted to talk,” I grumble opening my bag and rooting through it for a piece of gum. When I find one and look up at him, his expression is tight. Guarded.
He reaches up to scratch the back of his head . . . again. One of his childhood tells. So they’re not all gone. “There are a lot of things that need to be said.”
“When?”
His eyes flick over me again. “Let me buy you lunch. What’s your favorite restaurant?”
He wants to take me out? No one’s taken me out for a really long time. “Luigi’s.”
He nods. “I’ll meet you there at one.”
He keeps stride with me as we walk to my platform and my anger starts to ebb a little. When we get there, I look at him. “Thanks.”
His eyes widen a little, surprised, I guess, after my snippiness. “For what?”
I gesture vaguely at the platform. “This.”
His face darkens as his lips press into a line. “Don’t thank me, Hilary.”
The train comes and I climb on. The doors
“I’m fine,” I spit. “I had things under control, you know? I didn’t need you to save me. I’ve never needed you to save me.”
He winces and I close my eyes against the unwelcome memory.
Alessandro holding me. Wiping my tears .
“I’ve never needed you,” I repeat, disgusted by the tears I feel pricking the backs of my eyes. I am not going to cry in front of him—or anyone—ever again.
He picks up my shoes and lays them on the sidewalk at my feet. “Let me take you home.”
I step into them and start walking, ignoring him as best I can. But I don’t stop him when he keeps stride with me.
I know I told Alessandro I didn’t need him, but I’m not sure it’s true. That whole thing shook me up—though I’ll never admit it to him. My heart is racing, and adrenaline is still pouring into my bloodstream. I force myself not to shake, or blow out a nervous breath, or show any signs of weakness as we walk the three blocks to the subway. We wait in silence for the D train, then climb on. It’s not until I stand to make the transfer at Columbus Circle twenty minutes later that I think to ask. “Where do you live?”
He follows me off the train onto the platform. “West Village.”
“You’re going the wrong way.”
The hint of a smile flits over lips that I’m just now realizing are full and red and perfect. “I know.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know you’re safely home.”
I just stand here on the platform, staring at him, as the train whooshes past and disappears into the tunnel.
“Why?”
His eyes narrow with his confusion. “I just—”
“No. I mean . . . why all of it?” I say, flicking my wrist at him. “Why did you find me? Why did you agree to come out tonight? Why are you even bothering with me?”
He catches his lips between his teeth, thinking. Finally, he blows out a breath and scratches the back of his head. “You meant something to me, Hilary. You were important to me once. I just needed to know you were okay. I needed to see for myself.” He shakes his head. “You were never supposed to know I was here.”
God, I wish I didn’t know he was here. I narrow my eyes at him and spin for the stairs, feeling all my anger bubbling up and spilling over. How could he possibly think he could know how broken I am just by looking? I’ve spent eight years learning to hide it. “And am I? Do I have your stamp of approval?”
He stops me with a hand on my arm. “That’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft, and when I spin to face him, the look in his eye tugs at my heart—sends me eight years into my past. Tears press at the backs of my eyes again, and damn him .
“I’m going to catch the one,” I say, waving an arm up the concourse toward my train. “You should head back.”
His eyes scan me again, lingering over my legs. He bites the corner of his lower lip and looks up at my face. “I’d like to see you again sometime when we can talk.”
“You always wanted to talk,” I grumble opening my bag and rooting through it for a piece of gum. When I find one and look up at him, his expression is tight. Guarded.
He reaches up to scratch the back of his head . . . again. One of his childhood tells. So they’re not all gone. “There are a lot of things that need to be said.”
“When?”
His eyes flick over me again. “Let me buy you lunch. What’s your favorite restaurant?”
He wants to take me out? No one’s taken me out for a really long time. “Luigi’s.”
He nods. “I’ll meet you there at one.”
He keeps stride with me as we walk to my platform and my anger starts to ebb a little. When we get there, I look at him. “Thanks.”
His eyes widen a little, surprised, I guess, after my snippiness. “For what?”
I gesture vaguely at the platform. “This.”
His face darkens as his lips press into a line. “Don’t thank me, Hilary.”
The train comes and I climb on. The doors
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