Page 57 of Lights Out

“Let’s just say it involves a boy I like,” I said.

Both brows went up. “You think he’s running around behind your back? I heard Greg down in the janitorial department has mob ties. Maybe he can disappear him for you.”

I forced a laugh, trying to act natural. Greg was a lanky Irish-Italian guy with black hair and freckles. He had a baby face but was also a relentless flirt, and he’d lured Vern in at the Holiday party. He was also, most definitely, in the mob.

Vern and I got along in a way that made me feel like we could be besties if we had any free time for things like friends. I’d only seen her a handful of times over the past month, but I knew she had it bad for Greg because she’d found a way to bring him up at least once in each conversation. Which meant I needed to figure out a way to ruin her crush. Immediately. Vern was a good person; she didn’t need to be associating with lowlifes.

“Greg?” I said. “Mallory told me he cheated on his last three girlfriends.”

Vern grimaced. “Seriously?”

“Yes. And bragged about it.”

“Ew. Never mind then,” she said, dragging the bag of bandages toward her.

“Vern, no. I can’t ask you to do this for me.” I tried to slide my hand under hers to get my samples, but she scooped them up and held them behind her back.

She gave me a stern look. “I said it’s too late. I’m invested now. And wipe that guilty look off your face. I’ll run the tests during my breaks, so you won’t feel like you’re line jumping.”

I scrunched my nose up. “But then I’ll be taking away your breaks.”

“Aly,” she said, gripping my arm with her free hand. “It’s okay to be selfish once in a while. You know that, right?”

“Yes?” I said, fighting the urge to squirm beneath her gaze.

She shook my arm. “Once more with conviction.”

“Yes,” I repeated. It still sounded more like a question than a statement.

Vern released me and huffed out a breath. “You trauma nurses and your bleeding hearts.” She turned away to hit a button on a machine, and I was contemplating snagging the baggies and running when she spun back around and caught me with my hand outstretched. The unimpressed look she gave me spoke volumes. “That’s it. Get out.”

I sheepishly made my way toward the door. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you know when I have the results,” she said, waving me away.

I left the lab feeling oddly deflated and more than a little guilty. Yes, I wanted the results, but I didn’t like that I was taking time from Vern. I knew how sacred breaks were when you were overworked, and the forensic lab was as short-staffed as the nurses.

My phone pinged in my pocket as I made my way back downstairs. I knew without looking that it would be Josh, and I was hesitant to check the text in public in case he’d said something especially incendiary. The man had a way of needling me that led to expletives spewing from my mouth, and I didn’t want to offend anyone who might overhear me.

I whipped my phone out of my pocket the second I stepped inside the breakroom. Yup. It was Josh.

On a scale of 1-10, how mad are you about the tracker?he asked.One being you need a day or two to cool off, and ten being we need to start drafting a joint custody agreement for Fred.

And just like that, I was grinning. I had no idea how he kept doing this to me: pissing me off one second and making me want to burst out laughing the next. I’d never met anyone quite like him, and his personality was addicting because of it. It didn’t take much imagination to picture life with him, going home after a horrible shift and having him find some way to turn my tears into laughter.

I’m at a 3,I wrote back.As in, I think I need a few days to regroup and form my next plan of attack.

Lie. What I really needed was time to talk myself out of the feelings I was starting to develop for this man. A kinky hookup? Fine. That was allowed. We all had one-night stands with strangers. But to want more from the man who had a) broken into my house, b) broken into my car, and c) was actively stalking me had to be the height of stupidity.

Only I didn’t feel like an idiot. I felt…right. He’d had countless opportunities to harm me, and he hadn’t. All he’d done so far was make my life better. Food, shoveling, rides home when I was too tired to drive, security updates, the best orgasm of my life. Sure, he drove me up a wall half the time and couldn’t cook for shit – the bacon was still raw in the middle, and I stopped eating the eggs after picking the third piece of shell out of my mouth – but no man was perfect.

I feared that I was getting too attached too quickly. It had only been a few days since he’d broken in the first time, but I’d spent almost every free moment since either obsessing over him or in his presence. If my disappointment at getting home yesterday and not finding him there was anything to go by, this man had the potential to hurt my feelings. I blamed all the time I’d spentobsessing over his videos. It made it feel like he’d been a part of my life for much longer than he actually had, like we’d been in a strange, one-sided sexual relationship since before Halloween.

Now I understood the female leads from all the sports romances I’d read. No wonder they were saying “I love you” by the halfway mark – their feelings for their famous counterparts had started months, sometimes years before they had their meet-cutes.

I snorted, remembering my own not-so-meet-cute, unable to keep from imagining someone years from now asking how Josh and I met. Somehow, I didn’t think “He broke into my car at three o’clock in the morning and waited there for me with a gun and a knife” would be the answer they anticipated, even if I added the part about the seat heater and the snacks.

My phone pinged, and I looked down to see another text.

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