midnight rain [f. colapinto]

f o r t y - t w o

"Where are you going?" asked Franco, his hand still wrapped around her wrist.

"Back to the hotel," said Evita. "I'm taking a taxi."

"No you aren't," said Franco.

Evita turned to face him, pulling her hand away, her irritation beginning to simmer. "Who's to say I can't?"

"You're not going back alone," he insisted, his jaw tight. "I'm driving you."

Evita raised an eyebrow. "You're sober?"

"Of course I am," said Franco. "I haven't touched a drink all night. I'm not an idiot, Evita. Now come on."

Evita hesitated, searching his face for a reason he was mad at her. "Why are you angry right now?"

Franco scowled. "And why are you such a hypocrite, Evita? I'm not allowed to be upset with you once in a while?"

"That's not what I'm saying," she said, her voice quieter.

"Then what are you saying?" he snapped, stepping closer to her. "That you finally give a shit enough to ask how I'm feeling? You're that drunk, Evita? What were you even doing in there?"

The questions were spinning through Evita's head at a thousand kilometers per hour. She was used to asking the questions. Answering them, specifically these ones, was overwhelming. "Dancing," answered Evita, lifting her chin defensively. "Is that not allowed at the club anymore?"

"Stop messing around with me, Evita," said Franco, his voice deadly calm, but restrained, as though he was holding himself back.

"I'm not messing around, Franco," she shot back, her temper flaring. "I have no idea why you're upset."

Franco ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Are you trying to get under my skin? Dancing with Luke just to get back at me?"

Evita's patience snapped. "Are you trying to get under mine? Because it's fucking working Franco. And I don't do everything just for your attention. It's not my fault you're always watching me. Now can we just go back to the hotel? I'm done with this tonight."

Franco stared at her for a long moment, his shoulders tense. Then he exhaled sharply with defeat. "Fine," he said, his tone softening, his expression suddenly vulnerable. "I just, I don't understand you. I'm trying, Evita. Can you just please work with me? Give me something, anything."

Evita almost faltered. Almost. But she couldn't give in to his charms. She was angry with him, and she wasn't about to finally forgive him while she was drunk in the middle of Singapore. It didn't matter that he looked infuriatingly gorgeous in the light from the street lamps or that the smell of his cologne made her feel even more intoxicated. It didn't matter, because there was nothing between them, just their jobs that had brought them back together. That was it.

"Let's just go," she muttered, turning away before he could see the conflict reflected in her eyes.

Franco sighed, but he didn't press her further. Instead, he followed her to the car, the silence heavy between them.

Once they were in the car, Evita stole a glance at Franco, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, she found herself lost in a daydream. Evita straddling Franco's lap, her black dress riding up her legs. His breath against her neck, his mouth leaving tiny bruises along her soft skin. Her fingers tangling in his dark curls, his hands tracing down her waist, over her hips, and up her bare thighs as their lips met in a consuming-

"Evita?"

The sound of his voice snapped her back to reality, and her cheeks burned as she met his curious gaze.

"Hmm?"

"You're looking at me weird," said Franco, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.

"No I'm not," insisted Evita, folding her arms and forcing her eyes to focus on the road.

"Alright, beautiful. You can tell yourself that," he responded smoothly, his voice laced with amusement.

Evita frowned, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back as he shifted the car into reverse and pulled into the street. She hadn't been looking at him strangely, she couldn't have. Those images, those feelings, they weren't hers. It had to be the alcohol thinking for her, not her own free thoughts. Dancing with Luke had stirred her emotions, heightened her senses, and now she was projecting it all onto Franco. That was the only explanation.

Evita didn't desire Franco, not at all. That chapter of her life was closed, locked, and hidden away for no one, not even her, to access. Franco was part of her past, and that's all he would ever be.

But as her gaze flickered toward him again, her restraint faltered. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing just enough of his chest to leave her wanting to see more. Her lips parted involuntarily, heat rising in her chest as her imagination threatened to take over again. A reckless part of Evita itched to lean over and unbutton a few more, just to see how far she could push her curiosity.

Evita shifted in her seat, forcing her gaze forward. She needed to ground herself, to shake of this uncharacteristic lapse in control. Dwelling on Franco, indulging in the pull she was suddenly feeling toward him, would only complicate things further. Things she wasn't ready, or willing, to confront.

...

an: that was a doozy of a few chapters but i'm so glad they're finally published! i wrote these like a month ago and i've been yearning to post them. anyway, this is only the start to the fall break drama, so stay tuned for that! all my love, willow <3