After all of this, it was clear he didn’t have the flu. He’d been going through withdrawal, and it was much worse than he’d originally imagined. He had to find a way to make her stay.
They piled into his car, and he started the ignition and rested his fingers on the wheel. “Where do you live now?”
She looked down at her tightly clasped hands. “The month-to-month place by the restaurant.”
His gut twisted, and an unpleasant sensation spilled over his skin. “That is not a very good part of town.”
“It’s good enough for me.”
No, it wasn’t.
Gritting his teeth, he left the pagoda in San Jose and headed to her place via the 880N. He sped through flat territory with drab office buildings and storage lots and pulled up to a small gray apartment complex tucked behind a beat-up strip mall. On the way from his car to her apartment, his shoes crunched over shattered glass from a broken beer bottle, and they passed a stray shopping cart lying on its side.
He hit the lock button on his key fob just in case and scanned the area for bored kids who might be interested in keying his car or slashing his tires. None, thankfully. His house wasn’t great, but at least he didn’t have to worry about vandalism.
When she stopped in front of a door on the ground floor of the building, his displeasure grew. Not safe. It would be so easy for someone to break in. She had a lot of character, but that wasn’t enough to protect her against someone bigger, stronger, and possibly armed. His hands started sweating at the idea of some asshole breaking through one of her windows and coming inside to—
“Do you want to come in?” she asked, peering over her shoulder at him from just inside her open doorway. “You don’t look good.”
At his silent nod, she opened the door wide and let him in. It was a plain studio apartment with brown carpet, a sleeping bag on the floor with a pile of textbooks next to it, a mostly empty closet, and a teeny linoleum kitchen.
She’d left him for this.
He hated everything about it.
“Thirsty?” Without waiting for him to reply, she hurried to the kitchen, filled a disposable cup from the tap, and brought it to him.
He drank down the water, grimacing at the hard taste, and handed the cup back to her. She stepped toward the kitchen, clearly planning to put it away or in the garbage or something, and he took advantage of the opportunity to gather her in his arms, pressing her close, her chest to his. She gasped, and the plastic cup fell forgotten to the ugly carpet.
“Marry me,” he said.
She drew in a sharp breath, and her green eyes searched his face. “Why?”
He shook his head. He didn’t know how to say this. It felt too big. At the same time, it didn’t feel like enough. “I’ve missed you.” So badly his body had broken down. “I need to know you’re safe and happy. And I want you close. With me.”
Her hands balled up against his chest like they did when she was fighting against touching him, and he covered them with his and worked on the fingers until they unfurled.
“Come back with me and marry me.”
“Kh?i …” She bit her lip.
Acting on instinct and desperation, he angled her head back and kissed her. She softened against him like always and pressed herself close, and his body hardened in a euphoric rush. The wild idea crossed his mind that if he kissed and touched her right, he might muddle her senses to the point where she said yes by accident. And hell yes, he would hold her to it.
“Marry me.”
? ? ?
Kh?i’s kiss. Kh?i’s touch. His hands sweeping over her body, demanding, possessive, making her melt. She’d tried to stay away from him, but his intense sorrow during the death anniversary had worried her. She hadn’t known how to be there for him, but this, she knew exactly what to do with this. He needed, so she gave.