Through the Lens (Click Duet #1) (Bay Area Duet Series) Persephone Autumn (black authors fiction TXT) 📖

But seeing another man near Cora—his interest in her far beyond friendship—was a smack in the face. My blood turned molten and I was pumped and ready to kick his ass. If she hadn’t been there to stop me, I probably would have and regretted it later.

What intrigues me most is how Cora thinks this Jonas prick only wants to be friends with her. Is she blind to the way he looks at her? Or how eager he is to touch her? Their hug earlier… the way he stroked her cheek and hair after she fell… Fuck. Either she is oblivious or doesn’t want to believe.

I can’t let these thoughts fester inside me. I need to know what sort of relationship exists between Cora and this Jonas guy. She doesn’t owe me anything, and I would be shocked if she answers me, but I have to ask.

“Hey,” I start, and she looks over at me. “What’s up with you and this Jonas guy?”

She tilts her head to the side and remains silent in the passenger seat. After a minute, she starts laughing. At first, it is her typical laugh, but then it morphs into hysterics and snort-laughing. And then she laughs at her own snort-laughing. It’s kind of cute.

This goes on for another minute until she tells me to turn left at the next light. We take a left and another left a couple blocks later. Less than a quarter mile later and we are parked in her driveway.

She still hasn’t answered my question and I wonder if she even remembers I asked it. We sit in silence after I cut the engine and neither of us moves to get out.

“He’s just a friend,” she whispers into the quiet, her voice somber. “I know he wants to be more than friends, and it’s crossed my mind on occasion, but we’ve been friends too long to ruin it. At least that’s my opinion.”

She sounds more sober than she did fifteen minutes ago and I wonder if it is the topic at hand or if she wasn’t that drunk to begin with. I don’t plan on asking her. But if she will keep talking, I will probe for more.

“If he asked you,” I hesitate, unsure if I want to know her truth. I search her eyes, wondering if she can read me in the darkness of the car. Her eyes used to read me like a book. She knew all my answers before I did. Knew all my tells. “If he asked you, would you guys be together?”

Her silhouette is all I see in the car as a light on the back of her house casts an aura around her. I am unable to see what she thinks, but I feel her eyes scan over every part of my face. Look into the windows of my soul. Wonder what would provoke me to ask her. Memorize the curves along my cheekbones in search for a twitch or indication of doubt. She studies the line of my jaw and waits for me to speak more. I may not be able to see her face, but with the angle of the light I know she sees mine.

She reaches toward me, finds my hand in the dark and wraps it in hers. “I… I don’t think so,” she whispers, her words clear. “He’s a great guy and has been a good friend. It’s just…” She shakes her head. “Relationships and me haven’t had the best of luck in my adult life. So, I just do the friend thing with sporadic dating. But never the same guy for more than one date.”

Shit. Did I do this to her? Did I ruin love for her? God, I hope she is not like this because of me. The selfish part of me jumps up and down in victory. But the selfless part of me, he stands in the corner with a baseball bat, beating the shit out of himself.

“I’m sorry,” I say the words before I stop myself.

“For what? Ruining me for every other man in the world. Don’t be sorry. I don’t want or need your pity. If I wanted to, I could have dated more and been in a solid relationship. But I get to decide. Is it such a bad thing to be picky? Especially after your soul has been crushed by the one person who was supposed to protect it.”

Slap. Fuck, that stings. But I sure as shit deserve it.

“Can I walk you in?” I ask, wanting to steer us away from talking about this now. Not when I know she’s not sober. Not when we can’t discuss what happened rationally.

“What? That’s it? You’re done talking about it, so conversation over?”

She shoves her door open and gets out, slamming the door behind her. I rush to get out, to catch up to her before she gets inside. Halfway to her back door, I catch her wrist in my grip.

“No. That’s not it at all. I just don’t think we should be having this discussion when you’re not one-hundred-percent coherent.”

She huffs, trying to yank her arm from my hand. “You’re ridiculous. You bring up the topic of discussion, but when it gets too thick… conversation done. It makes me dizzy.”

She sways and I want to tell her it’s not the conversation making her dizzy. But I don’t because she is already pissed at me. Yanking her arm, I release her wrist and she wobbles to the door, me on her heels.

I hand her the key ring with three keys and she unlocks the door. As she steps through the door, I go to follow her and she stops.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s late. Can I sleep on your couch? I won’t bother you and I’ll leave in the morning. If not, I’ll find a ride.”

Her eyes wobble a little as she studies my face. After a few breaths, she nods. “Couch.” It’s all she says as she walks toward a door I can only assume