The Heart Wants What It Wants

♡ CHAPTER THREE ♡

❝ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙʟᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ
ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴏғ sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ.
ɪᴛ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ sᴡᴇᴇᴛᴇsᴛ sᴘᴏᴛ ❞

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🇬 🇦 🇧 🇷 🇮 🇪 🇱 🇱 🇦 :

A near unbearable pain shoots through my leg. My knee bucks, and I wince when it hits the tar beneath my feet. Before I even think about having a chance to pick myself up, someone grabs my waist and yanks me—surprisingly gently— up and off the ground. 

My lip pulls into a snarl when his cologne dances in the air between us. Rich vanilla and sugary sweet rose. It's so delicious smelling that my stomach curdles. 

He is not attractive. 

I am not attracted to him.

 Maybe if I keep reciting that in my head, I'll eventually believe it. 

"Careful," he says, his voice as smooth as velvet and as gentle as a tender kiss against a lover's cheek. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?" He lets go of me when he knows for certain I'm stable enough to stand on my own and rounds me, kneeling at my feet. 

"Is it your ankle? I'm sure you twisted it back there." My cheeks heat involuntarily when he lifts my foot off the ground and swiftly pushes one of my hands to rest on his shoulder. 

He inspects it as if it's his life duty to make sure my ankle is as perfect as it could ever be. Then he looks up at me through his lashes. His eyes, the palest shade of grey, that it almost appears as a light blue. 

The end of his lip curls into an almost sultry smirk that makes a rush of heat settle in the pit of my stomach. "Have you gone mute, chéri?"  

"No," I say, placing the hand that previously held onto his shoulder for stability, against his forehead, and shoving hard until he falls on his ass. I place my foot onto the ground and stiffen my body to gain my balance back. 

"Touch me again, and I'll—"

"You'll, what? Cut my hand off and shove it down my throat?" 

"Exactly that." 

He tilts his head to the side like a confused puppy. "You're all bark and no bite, beautiful." 

"Well, if you keep provoking me, I might bite." 

"Might?" He says, arching a perfect eyebrow. My jaw clenches at the urge to punch him in his perfect, pretty boy face. 

He pulls his legs up to his chest and rests his chin on his knees, then says, "Hypothetical question… if I were to touch you right now, would you actually rip my fingers off, or would you just throw an empty threat my way?" 

When it feels like forever that I don't answer, a sly smile paints itself onto his mouth. Before he mutters any more infuriating things, I strut past him, albeit with a little struggle. 

It's going to be a long walk home, that's for sure.

I get about ten steps in and hear a car engine start. Seconds later, I sense something beside me, but I act oblivious to it. In my periphery, he moves at a slow pace right beside me. Slowly, he rolls his window down and slings an arm out the window. 

"Get in." He says, loud enough to hear over the idle of his engine. I ignore him, picking up my pace, even if it means fucking my ankle up further. The pain nearly forces me to my knees, but I bite it back. Just a block more and I'll be free of his annoying presence. 

He clears his throat, then says, more gentler this time, "Please get in," he swerves so that he's closer to the sidewalk. "I may be annoying, but I'm not a dick. Your ankle is hurt, and we don't know the severity. Please just get in the car so that I can wrap it up for you." His words only make me pick up speed.

And yet, he doesn't back down. He stays at the same pace as me. "Okay, fine. I promise I won't touch you. My sister can do it. Just get in the damn car!" 

I stop abruptly, and the car races past me as if he thought I'd only move faster. The scene is almost comedic. Then he stops, and slowly reverses to stop beside me. 

He gets out, and reaches out to touch me, but pulls back at the last second as if he'd thought against it. He opens the door for me, then shuts it when I'm sitting comfortably. He makes a u-turn and heads toward the house they'd come from.