The thought of sitting in a confined space with Christian, even for a few minutes, filled me with a strange sense of panic.
“I’m okay. I’m sure you have better things to do than chauffeur me around, and walking clears my head.” The words spilled out in a rush. I didn’t ramble often, but when I did, nothing short of a nuclear blast could stop me. “It’s good exercise, and I need to test out my new snow boots anyway. This is the first time I’ve worn them all season.” Stop talking. “So, as much as I appreciate your offer, I have to politely decline.”
I finished my near incoherent mini speech on a note of breathlessness.
I was getting better at saying no, but I still over-explained myself every time.
“Does that make sense?” I added when Christian remained silent.
An icy gust of wind chose that moment to whip past. It tossed the hood of my coat off my head and burrowed past my layers into my bones, sparking a burst of involuntary shivers.
I’d been sweating bullets in the studio, but now, I was so cold even the memory of warmth was frosted with blue.
“It does.” Christian finally spoke, his tone and expression unreadable.
“Good.” The word shook through my chattering teeth. “Then I’ll let you—”
The soft click of a door unlocking interrupted me.
“Get in the car, Stella.”
I got in the car.
I told myself it was because the temperature had somehow dropped twenty degrees in the space of five minutes, but I knew that was a lie.
It was the sound of my name, in that voice, delivered with such calm authority my body obeyed before I could protest.
For a man I barely knew, he had more power over me than almost anyone else.
Christian pulled away from the curb and turned a dial on the dashboard. A second later, heat blasted from the vents and warmed my frigid skin.
The car smelled like rich leather and expensive spices, and it was eerily clean. No wrappers, no half-empty coffee cups, not even a speck of lint.
I sank deeper into my seat and glanced at the man next to me.
“You always get your way, don’t you?” I asked lightly, trying to dissolve the inexplicable tension blanketing the air.
He slid a brief glance in my direction before refocusing on the road. “Not always.”
Instead of dissolving, the tension thickened and slipped into my veins. Hot and restless, like an ember waiting for a breath of oxygen to fan it to life.
Mission failed.
I turned my head and stared out the windshield, too thrown off by the day’s events to attempt more conversation.
The nerves scaling their way up my chest and into my throat didn’t help.
I was supposed to be the cool, calm one, the one who saw the silver lining in every cloud and remained levelheaded no matter the situation. That was the image I’d projected most of my life because that was what was expected of me as an Alonso.
An Alonso didn’t suffer from anxiety attacks or spend their nights worrying about every little thing that could go wrong the next day.
An Alonso didn’t seek therapy or air their dirty laundry to a stranger.
An Alonso was supposed to be perfect.
I twisted my necklace around my finger until it cut off the circulation.
My parents would probably love Christian. On paper, he was as perfect as they came.
Rich. Good-looking. Well-mannered.
I resented it almost as much as I resented the way he dominated the space around us, his presence pouring into every nook and crevice until it was the only thing I could concentrate on.
I fixed my eyes on the road ahead, but my lungs were filled with the scent of his cologne and my skin thrummed with awareness at the way his muscles flexed with each turn of the wheel.
I shouldn’t have gotten in the car.
Besides the warmth, the only upside was that I would get home to my shower and bed sooner. I couldn’t wait—
“The plants are doing well.”
The statement was thrown out so casually and unexpectedly it took me several seconds to realize that 1) someone had broken the silence, and 2) that someone was, in fact, Christian and not a figment of my imagination.
“Excuse me?”
“The plants in my apartment.” He stopped at a red light. “They’re doing well.”
What did that…oh.
Comprehension dawned, followed by a tiny flicker of pride.
“I’m glad.” I gave him a tentative smile now that the conversation was in safe, neutral territory. “They just need a little love and attention to thrive.”
“And water.”
I blinked at his obvious, deadpan statement. “And water.”
The words hung between us for a moment before a laugh broke free from my throat and Christian’s mouth curved into the tiniest of smiles.
The air finally lightened, and the knot in my chest loosened a smidge.
When the light turned green, the powerful rumble of the engine nearly drowned out his next words. “You have a magic touch.”
My cheeks warmed, but I responded with a small shrug. “I like plants.”
“Perfect person for the job, then.”
His plants had been on life support when I took over their care in exchange for keeping my current rent.
After my friend and ex-roommate Jules moved out last month to live with her boyfriend, my options were either get another roommate or move out of the Mirage, since I couldn’t afford to cover both portions of our rent. I’d grown attached to the Mirage, but I would rather downgrade my home than live with a stranger. My anxiety couldn’t handle that.