Page 77 of Ruin Me Gently

“Okay, last one, Lilypad!” she called now, her voice light and teasing.

She pulled the swing back hard, so high my stomach flipped. Then she let go. I flew forward like a slingshot, legs pumping at nothing, air rushing so fast my face stung.

Untouchable.

By the time I swung back down, her hands were already curling around the chains, slowing me down.

“Ready for ice cream round two?” she asked, winking.

She laughed and scooped me off the swing, arms wrapped tight around my body as she spun me around, my feet kicking helplessly through the air.

I’d loved her so much before everything changed. Before the bruises. Before the silence. Before she stopped being—

Brakes screeched, shattering the silence. A jolt of adrenaline shot through me, and I twisted around so fast my coffee nearly sloshed out of my cup.

A sleek, black beast of a car sat idling at the curb, all sharp lines and impossible curves. It looked like something straight out of a high-stakes heist movie—dangerous, expensive, and way too clean for a place like this. The headlights cut through the dark, casting long shadows across the pavement. And the low, steady rumble of the engine was almost vibrating right through my bones.

A figure sat in the driver’s seat. Hood drawn up. Scarf pulled high. Just a sliver of face visible, but enough to catch the gleam of dark eyes locked onto mine.

So, Mr. Stalker was hot.

Impossibly tall.

And apparently drove the kind of car that said, ‘I have more money than sense.’

So not only was he probably unhinged. He was more than likely attractive, and maybe rich?

Was I hallucinating?

Had I hit my head in the convenience store?

Was I in a coma?

What was going on?

A long moment stretched between us until he flung his hands up, a clear‘what the hell are you doing?’

I tilted my head, eyes narrowing, mirroring his silent question with a deliberate raise of my brows.

He leaned over the driver’s seat, one hand gripping the wheel while the other popped the door open. No words. No beckoning gesture. Just the quiet creak of the hinges, and the space waiting for me.

I should’ve turned and walked away. Maybe even run. But instead, I just sat there, half-twisted toward him, knee drawn up, fingers clenched tight around my coffee cup.

A sigh escaped my throat, body operating on something outside of logic as I pushed myself up from the bench and tossed the cup into the trash.

And then, without hesitation, I turned and walked straight toward the car.

I didn’t know what I was doing.

Idid.

God, I knewexactlywhat I was doing.

I reached the car, breath shallow, fingers twitching at my sides.

Then, without a word, I got in.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

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