Then, her eyes shut down on me, and she looks away. It feels like she’s ripping my heart out all over again, and a rage I didn’t know possible floods my body and mind. And it’s all channeled in one direction—her.
I need to get out of here before I tear her and this place apart.
Turning, I step back and pull the door with me, slamming it so hard that the shop front rattles. I’m surprised I didn’t smash the windows.
I get about ten steps away before my blinding anger takes over and turns me back around, marching me straight back there.
The lobby is empty, which is a good thing because I probably look like an insane person right now—not that I actually give a fuck about what people think of me.
I yank the door open and stride through, banging it shut with as much force as I did the first time.
Evie’s big brown eyes are straight on me, wide and afraid.
Seeing her afraid like this should pull me back a step, but it doesn’t. At this moment, I don’t think a fucking dump truck could stop me.
I reach the counter and slam my hands down on the metal surface. Leaning forward, I stare at her with cold eyes.
“Why?” I say low, my voice hard.
“Wh-why, what?” Her tentative voice shakes, almost like she’s afraid to ask the question.
She should be afraid.
I stare down at the counter and take several deep breaths in and out, trying to control my rage. I can barely hear with the blood pounding in my ears.
One of my hands curls into a fist as I lift my eyes back to hers. “Why. Did. You. Fucking. Leave. Me?” I harshly bite each word out.
I want her to feel the pain in my words. I want her to feel every second of agony I’ve felt since she tore my heart out and shredded it to pieces.
Her lower lip trembles. She wraps her arm over her stomach and takes a small step back, away from my anger.
In all the time I knew Evie, I never really yelled at her—well, not like this anyway. And I never wanted to have to, but this is what she has reduced me to…reduced us to.
We’re two almost strangers with a world of hurt sitting between us.
Her eyes sweep the floor. “I-I can’t…”
She lifts them back to mine. I can see anguish and indecision in them.
“I…don’t know what to say.”
My chest is pounding so heavily that air is gusting out of me. “You don’t know what to say?” I yell, punching my fist on the counter. “How about the truth? How about telling me why you upped and disappeared on me a fucking week after we got married?”
Her eyes go to the wall over my shoulder. I see a shine of tears in them. It makes me ache for her, and that just pisses me off further. What right does she have to cry?
“I-I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I erupt again. “I don’t want your fucking apologies!” Well, I kind of do, but I want an explanation more. I want to know why she destroyed us…destroyed me.
I take a deep breath and try to even out my voice as I say, “I just want the truth, Evie. I just want to know why you left.”
Her eyes flicker to the window, looking at the people passing by. “Please, Adam,” she beseeches. “It’s my first day here, and I need this job. Can we talk later?”
My head nearly explodes. I half-expect to see my brain splattered all over this counter. “Are you fucking kidding me? No, we can’t fucking talk later! Ten years, Evie! Ten fucking years! You owe me an explanation, and I’m going nowhere until I get it.”
The door to the café opens, the sound yanking my eyes away from Evie. I don’t want any interruptions right now.
A seriously overweight middle-aged guy stands just in the doorway. I don’t recognize him. Must be a guest at the hotel.
He looks between Evie and me as the door shuts behind him. His brow furrows, and concern flitters over his face.
We can’t look like a picture of heaven right now. More like the very definition of hell.
Evie looks like she’s about to burst into tears, and I’m pretty sure my face is bright red from the rage burning up my skin. My hands are now curled around the edge of the counter, and I’m leaning forward over it, invading Evie’s space.
Ignoring the guy, I stare back at Evie. “Answers, Evie. Now.”
“Is…everything okay here?” Fatty asks.
Letting out a pissed off sigh, I swing murderous eyes his way. “Things are just fucking peachy.”
Then, out of nowhere, I feel her hand on my arm.
The touch sends me reeling, searing into my skin, heating me right through to my bones. I haven’t felt this way since…since the last time I felt her touch.
“Adam, I know I owe you my time. But, please, can we talk later?” Her voice is soft.
And I’m reminded of all the times when we used to lie in bed after making love, and we’d talk about nothing for hours. Her voice was always so soft, so sweet, in the darkness.
“I have my lunch break at one, or I get off at five. Whichever works best for you, I can do. But just not right now. Please.”
My eyes move down to her hand. I need her skin off of mine, yet I need her to never let go again.
She removes her hand from my arm.
The instant her touch is gone, I feel cold. And the iciness seeps straight back into my ruined black heart.
I watch as her fingers curl into her palm, like I just burned her skin.
I lift my eyes, boring straight into hers.
“Five. I’ll come back here.” Releasing my grip on the counter, I step back and stride toward the door, passing Fatty as I go.
I yank the door open and then stop before passing through. I turn back to Evie to find Fatty already at the counter. Guy sure can move fast.
My eyes meet with hers, and I pin her with my stare. “Five o’clock, Evie, and you’d better be here. Otherwise, I will come looking for you, and you can bet your fucking ass that, this time, I will find you.”
Then, I get the hell out of there and slam the door on my past.
She’s here again—rock girl. She’s sitting up on that same big rock, a hundred yards away from my beach house, where she sits every day. Hence, the nickname, Rock Girl.
God, I’m lame.
With her sketchpad resting against her bent knees, her eyes are fixed on the paper like her life depends on it while her hand freely moves the pencil over the paper, drawing…I have no clue.
I wish I did.
I mean, I could take a wild guess and say she’s drawing the scenery—the pier, beach, sand, sky. There’s plenty of shit like that here in Malibu. But still, I want to know exactly what she’s drawing that has her so enraptured.
Like, I really want to know.
I’ve been watching Rock Girl for a week now.
I saw her on the first day when Max and I arrived at the beach house, which will be my home for the next year. This will be my year of freedom before I have to go to Harvard, and then once I graduate, it is on to work for my father to learn the family business.
Can’t wait. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
Until then, I’m here to surf my ass off—and apparently stalk cute blonde artists.
Every day, at least for the last seven days, at just a little after five p.m., Rock Girl walks along the beach, passing by my house, with a bag on her shoulder, usually wearing a pair of ass-hugging jean shorts and a red tank, which shows off her perfectly formed tits. They’re not too big or too small, just the right size to fit my hands, I imagine. And from what I’ve seen, they look to be real—meaning, when I watch her climbing up the rock, they jiggle about.
I can’t remember the last time I saw a hot girl with a real pair of tits, not in the silicone world I’ve been raised in. Everything in my world is fake, even the people, especially the people.