The desperate desire is made more confusing by my continued attraction to Jagger. I should be repulsed by him. But my skin tingles just being next to him. The new information doesn’t lessen it at all, and that’s fueling the intrusive thoughts. I should hate him, not want him.
Yet…
I press my head against the glass, squeezing my eyes shut, and beg the curiosity about what drives him to drugs to go away. It doesn’t matter why he does them. There couldn’t possibly be a valid reason for someone like him to turn to drugs except rebellion or just because he can. His life is charmed, right? Money, charisma, success…
Then why does everything scream at me to look deeper? Why does my mind circle back to the fight the other night? To the pain and anger that flashed in his brilliant jade pools with every punch he threw?
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
You can’t have him, Poppy. You don’t even want him. It’s just that deeply buried instinct all women feel to take care of someone. To fix them.
The car stops, and I look around, recognizing my building, wondering if he has magical powers because I could swear I only just closed my eyes. My door opens, and I look through tired, angry eyes at a concerned expression. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“That’s supposed to make it okay?” I spit, letting my anger at this entire situation roll off my tongue.
“No. I suppose it doesn’t.” His fingers thread through his hair. Guilt dances in his eyes, regret twists his mouth. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
I take his extended hand but drop it as soon as I’m out of the car. “I can get myself in.” I step around him, ignoring the clench of his jaw, the internal battle etched across his face. “Thanks for the ride.”
My mind is conflicted as I enter my building, and it doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t bother me or matter to me what Jagger does. Walking away from him shouldn’t have made my chest ache.
He’s not my problem, and I don’t have the bandwidth for more complications in my life. The decision was made the moment I laid eyes on him. He’s off-limits for too many reasons.
But God-fucking-dammit, I want to turn around, find out what’s hiding in those green eyes, and heal him, knowing good and damn well it’s not possible because people can’t be fixed.
He’s not your problem, Poppy. It’s not a concern, it’s self-serving lust.
By the time I reach my apartment, I feel like I’m losing my mind. Hands shaking, I enter the code on my door. The tumblers rumble, and the light turns green.
Then I open the door.
Turns out Jagger Davis isn’t my biggest problem after all.
Jagger
Idon’t know why I’m still leaning beside my car, staring at the entrance to her building, or why I care. But I do.
My habits aren’t a secret. The shame I wear has nothing to do with my methods of coping with life. If someone doesn’t like what I do or how I choose to handle my baggage, that’s their problem, not mine.
But the minute her hand hit the latch on my console, my stomach took a nosedive. Vomit surged to my throat at her disgusted expression. Anger bubbled at how she walked away from me without looking back.
She’s just a girl. A chick I barely know. The only reason she’s holding my interest is that I want to be between her legs. Her opinion of my life choices doesn’t fucking matter.
That’s what I keep telling myself to get my feet moving.
They haven’t budged an inch.
The truth claws its way through the denial until I have to admit, at least to myself, that I want her. Her laugh when it’s too deep or dark. The way she scratches her nose with every lie. The way she exists, determined to fight her way through life no matter what it costs her.
I want to consume her thoughts the way she’s consumed mine.
But she doesn’t need me in her life. A little cocaine in the console is mild compared to the drama in my life. The drugs aren’t my dirty secret, and if she knew the truth, all the things I keep private, she’d run fast and far, not wanting a piece of shit like me in her life.
And I wouldn’t blame her. I want to run away from me, too.
A throat clears. The doorman is watching and waiting for me to leave. “Is Ms. Carnac coming back down, sir?”
It’s only been a few minutes. I doubt she’s made it to her floor, but I already know the answer. Disappointment whispers past my lips. “No. I don’t think so.” With my hands in my pockets, I round my car, climbing into the driver’s seat. Thick curls weave through my fingers as I curse myself one more time for letting her reaction bother me when I know it’s for the best. She’s made it clear we can’t see where this attraction goes, and I’m not interested in being her friend.
