Chapter Seven You Don’t Buy Me Like That
1080 Words
~ Harley ~
I don’t leave the club.
That’s the first mistake.
I stand there like an i***t, heart banging against my ribs, while Quinn watches me. Like he already thinks I'm his.
Not owned.
Claimed.
There’s a difference, and I hate that I feel it.
“I didn’t come here to be cornered,” I say.
“You walked in on purpose,” he replies.
I scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
His mouth twitches. Not a smile. Something sinister. Like he enjoys resistance because it proves I'm worth the chase.
“You came to confront me,” he says. “That means you wanted a reaction.”
“I wanted answers.”
“And you got them.”
“No,” I snap. “I got expensive silence wrapped in flowers.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying me like I just changed the rules of a game he thought he knew.
“Then ask better questions.”
I laugh, short and ugly. “You don’t get to talk to me like you’re doing me a favour.”
He steps closer.
Still not touching.
Still crowding my space like he owns the air between us.
“I’m not,” he says quietly. “I’m talking to you like an equal.”
That makes my stomach flip harder than anything else he’s said.
“Bullshit,” I mutter.
He doesn’t argue.
That somehow pisses me off more.
I turn toward the exit. Half threat. Half test.
His voice follows me.“Walk out if you want.”
I stop.
“You won’t be chased,” he continues. “You won’t be pressured. You won’t be followed.”
I turn back slowly.
“Then what’s the point of all this?” I demand. “The flowers. The timing. The money. You said you don’t do meaningless, remember?”
His gaze drops to my throat, where my pulse is betraying me.
“The point,” he says, “is that I don’t lie to myself.”
The words slide under my skin.
“And what does that mean?” I ask.
“It means I wanted you again.”
Again.
Like it was always an option.
My nails dig into my palms.
“You don’t get to decide that alone.”
“I know,” he says
His voice is softer now.
“Then stop acting like this is inevitable.”
He studies me for a long second. Then he nods once.
“Fine.”
The word lands heavier than expected.
“I’ll stop sending gifts,” he says. “I’ll stop making gestures.”
My chest tightens. I don’t know why that bothers me.
“But,” he adds, eyes locking onto mine, “I won’t pretend I didn’t want you. And I won’t apologise for acting on that.”
Heat crawls up my spine.
“That’s not an apology,” I say.
“No.”
“Or an explanation.”
“No.”
“Then what the hell is it?”
His voice drops.
“Honesty.”
Silence stretches again.
I hate how much Iexpected something more from him.
I hate how my body remembers him.
“You think honesty excuses crossing lines,” I say.
“I think honesty is the only reason lines matter.”
I shake my head. “You sound like every older man who thinks confidence makes him dangerous.”
A pause.
Then, quieter, “I am dangerous.”
Not a threat. fact.
My breath catches.
He sees it.
Of course he does.
“That’s not what scares you,” he says.
I glare at him. “You don’t know what scares me.”
“I know exactly what scares you,” Quinn replies. “Feeling disposable.”
The word punches the air out of my lungs.
I stare at him, stunned.
“You don’t get to psychoanalyse me,” I snap, but my voice isn’t steady anymore.
“I’m not analysing,” he says. “I’m paying attention.”
“I didn’t send the roses to buy you,” he continues. “I sent them because I don’t treat things that matter like afterthoughts.”
“I’m not a thing.”
“I know.”
The certainty in his voice makes my throat tighten.
“You’re acting like I owe you something,” I say.
“I’m acting like you deserve to be pursued properly.”
My laugh comes out shaky. “Properly? You barely know me.”
“I know you came back angry instead of scared.”
He steps closer again.
This time I don’t move.
My skin is buzzing. My head feels light.
“That doesn’t mean you get to touch me,” I whisper.
His hand lifts slowly. Deliberately.
He stops inches from my waist.
“Then say no.”
Not a command an Invitation.
I swallow.
“No,” I say.
His hand drops immediately.
No hesitation.
No argument.
Something inside my chest fractures anyway.
“You don’t even argue?” I ask, frustrated and confused.
“I don’t push where I want you to step forward,” he replies.
That’s when I realise the problem.
He’s not trying to trap me.
He’s giving me space and trusting I’ll close it myself.
And I hate that he’s right.
“I shouldn’t want this,” I say.
“But you do,” he answers.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
“Yet you are.”
I step back.
Then forward again.
Fuck.
“You don’t buy me like that,” I say one last time.
His eyes burn.
“I don’t want to buy you,” Quinn says. “I want you to choose me.”
My heart is racing. My thoughts are scattered. Every instinct is screaming danger and every nerve is screaming yes.
“I don’t do casual,” I say.
“Neither do I.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
I exhale slowly.
“This is a bad idea.”
His gaze never leaves my face.
“Yes.”
I close my eyes for half a second.
Then I step into his space.
Not touching.
Just close enough that his breath warms my cheek.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I say.
His voice is rougher now. Barely controlled.
“It will.”
I look up at him, defiant.
“Then you’re in trouble,” I tell him.
A corner of his mouth lifts.
“So are you.”
- Writer
