Page 9 of Graves

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“I mean, kinda. I need to close, and to do that, I need no customers here. Plus, the way you’re just staring at me, waiting for everyone else to leave, it’s giving off serial killer vibes.”

An amused huff escapes him at that.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to put you on edge. I just wanted to make sure you had a safe way to get home.”

“And the creepiness continues,” I say, only half teasing.

He shrugs his shoulders but doesn’t say anything in his defense, which again is creepy. Hot or not, I know how this works. I saw the Ted Bundy movie.

“I’m good. You can go.”

He pauses for a moment like he is about to say something, before he nods his head and stands. His height keeps going andgoing until, I swear, it looks like his head is about to hit the ceiling.

Okay, not really, but he is extremely tall, his shoulders are wide, and his hands alone are nearly the size of my face. Something twists inside me, a warning, a memory, a fear. Whatever it is, when he takes a step closer to me, I take a step back, visibly shaking as I bump into a table and send the thing toppling over.

Logically, I can tell he doesn’t want to hurt me, but tell that to my racing heart.

He frowns at that as he bends down and rights the table, not immediately getting up as he speaks to me while crouched.

“Have a good night.”

With that, he slowly stands, turning away from me before he can fully tower over me as he steps out the door. I let out a shaky breath when he’s gone and lock the door behind him. I press my back against the heavy wooden door as I try to control my breathing. Jesus. I haven’t gotten triggered like that in a long time. I don’t know if it was his size or demeanor, or maybe something in my intuition, warning me that he was bad news.

I don’t think it was the latter, though, because there is an equally loud voice in my head telling me there is something different about him. Not necessarily good, but not entirely bad either.

Chapter Six

BLAKE

For the last three days, he has come into the bar. Every day he sits down in the same booth, orders the same drink, and proceeds not to drink it until it’s closing time. We haven’t spoken outside of basic pleasantries since that day, and honestly, I’m not sure why I’m not more bothered by his silence. I should be creeped out, right? The way he watches me and studies me. The way he is very clearly following my work schedule. I should be alarmed. This is the part where I call the cops and file a restrainingorder, right?

Instead, though, when he’s here, I feel…safe, I guess. As safe as one could be when they are practically alone, in a large city, working in a dive bar until the early hours of the morning. I’m filling up a couple of college guys’ shot glasses when he steps inside. I give him a head nod in greeting, and he does the same.

I pour his drink without hesitation and drop it off at his table.

“Thank you,” he says simply.

I nod my head in response as I turn and go about the rest of my shift. The night goes pretty easy, and I’m thankful because last night I had to clean someone’s puke off the bathroom floor. Ten out of ten, don’t recommend.

“Hey, sugar tits! Another round!” one of the rowdy college boys shouts through the bar. His dumb friends all laugh, like it was the funniest thing the pack of hyenas had ever heard, as I begin filling up their next round.

Gritting my teeth together, I slip past the center tables and come up to the guys. I set the class clown’s glass harder than the others as I lean down until I’m eye-to-eye with him.

“You pull any shit like that again, and you’re all out of here. Got that?”

His friends all nod, but he just rolls his eyes lazily.

“Ah shit, calm down, baby. I’m just messing around. Besides, what do you expect when a pretty little thing like you comes to work at a place like this?” he says as his hand reaches behind me, slapping my ass so hard the sting is instant.

Outrage and disgust fill me as I get ready to throttle his ass. Unfortunately, I’m too slow. A black blur comes out ofnowhere, tackling the frat boy to the ground. I recognize my silent customer instantly.

His fists drive into the guy’s face in perfect synchronicity, throwing in an elbow to the nose for good measure before his hands are wrapped around his throat, squeezing so hard his knuckles are turning white.

Several of the guy’s buddies are yanking on him, trying to pull him off their quickly dying friend, but they all fail. My eyes begin flicking around the room nervously, not sure what to do to stop him before he literally kills the kid.

Crouching down so I’m in front of him, I shake his shoulders, trying to get him to let go or at least look away from him, anything.

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