Page 16 of Peripheral Vision

“That is top secret information that is only to be revealed later in our friendship. But it’s one of my most fond memories.”

“If I win this, I’m asking for that as my story. You’re just full of little surprises, love.” I blush at the term of endearment again, unable to help the way I enjoy how it rolls off of his tongue.

“When you’re ready to throw in the towel, just tell me. I’ve got all night,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Not a chance. I’m turning this up a level. I have my pilot's license, I can fluently speak four languages, and I’ve been scuba diving with sharks.”

I rub my hand down the front of my jaw. “Now you’re just trying to show off. If this is your way of getting me to like you, it just might be working,” I mumble under my breath. But something in the way he is looking at me tells me I might have said that louder than I intended to. I can feel my body heat with embarrassment. “Four languages,” I say with resignation and doubt.

“Actually, it’s five: English, Spanish, French, Mandarin, and German. I definitely haven’t been scuba diving with sharks. I hate the ocean.” He shrugs with indifference.

I roll my eyes at him. “Humble brag. Fine. I’ve never been outside of the country I was born in, I’ve trained and ran a marathon, and I’ve seen the Northern Lights in person.”

“You’ve definitely been outside of the U.S. You’re a military brat, and I imagine one of your parents was re-stationed a time or two. And most people have a chance to see the Northern Lights in person depending on the time of year and the phenomenon going on, so you’ve never ran a marathon.” He answers so quickly that I’m slightly taken aback. There must be something written on my face because he adds, “Not that I don’t think you couldn’t. You’ve definitely got the physique for it.”

I realize that he thinks I must have been offended by his comment that I don’t run. “No, it’s not that—I just, you got it right.”

He slams his palms down on the table in celebration, causing me to jump. “Better luck next time, love. It’s time to pay up though andit couldn’t have happened at a better time.” He gestures to the packed bar. “First, you’re going to tell me what your drink of choice is so we can celebrate. Then you’re going to hop that cute little ass behind the bar with me and give me a demonstration of your skill set. After that, I want your number.”

“That’s three things. I’m pretty sure we only agreed on two,” I point out.

“Oh, did I forget to mention? Your demoing is a part of your interview. But if you’d prefer to give me your number now, I’m open to it.” He stands up and digs in his pocket for his phone, handing it out to me with a smile.

I look at him with a question on my face. “You do realize youcouldjust get my number from my application, right?”

His smile widens. “Getting it directly from the source is just so much more rewarding though. It means I get to watch you get flustered like you’ve never given it out before.”

“I’m not flustered,” I mutter, though the way his gaze lingers on me while I type my number into his phone makes it hard to believe myself. Even more so as I feel warmth crawling up my neck.

He leans a little closer, hand closing around my own where it’s on his phone. His voice lowers as if he’s sharing a secret. “Oh, I know you’re not flustered. You’re just… carefully calculating the best way to get rid of me without being rude, right? Easiest way to let down your future cohort?”

I laugh, despite myself, shaking my head. Because for the first time in a long time I actually find myself craving the company of someone else in a more… intimate manner. So I just say, “You're ridiculous.”

He shrugs, the playful glint in his eyes never fading. “Maybe. But I think you’ll find that I’m very persistent. Let’s go.” He extends his hand to me.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I want to give in just yet, before grabbing it. A deal is a deal, and I owe him answers.

Chapter

Twelve

FLETCHER

I’ve been sitting quietly in the dim corner of the bar, glaring at the guy who’s stolen all of Dylan’s attention. I should be putting that smile on her face. It should be me stealing those subtle touches, keeping her laughter to myself. It takes all of my will to not get up, walk over there, and rip his arm out of its socket for touching what’s mine. Taking a deep breath, I loosen my hand around where it’s clenched on the glass of the draft beer I ordered before Dylan arrived.

She should really trust those instincts of hers, trust the goosebumps that I know pebble her soft skin every time she feels like someone is watching her. They’re not just random shivers or figments of her imagination, they’re signals, whispers from the universe warning her to stay alert. I know she keeps trying to talk herself out of it, but I also know the questions that swim through her mind every time she finds another clue. A clue I placed there for her, to keep her guessing. The doubt. The trust in herself slowly dwindling. It’s through the subtle glances over her shoulder, the way her eyes search for an invisible force. She feels it, even when she doesn’t fully understand it.

That thought angers me further when I realize that she hasn’t bothered to look nervous once since she walked through that door. I want her scared like she was earlier when she froze under the knowledge that a stranger lurked beyond her passenger door. When she analyzed the note I left for her on her windshield. When she was trying to decipher if it was a coincidence or something more. She knows she’s right—I have been watching her. I’ve been watching her all day, awaiting her next move. That’s why I’m here now, because I saw that application on her seat, and if this is where she’s going to be working, spending more of her time, then I will be, too.

But she doesn’t realize I’m watching her now. Suddenly, her light laughter cuts through the haze of the bar like it was meant for me alone. Even though I know she’s offering it up to the louse that’s across from her as they stand, taking his outstretched hand as he leads her away from their table. Her hips sway with each step she takes in that little leather skirt of hers. A skirt I want to trail my hands underneath, to see just what she’s hiding. A growl reverberates in my throat. It drives me insane, the way she tilts her head, her messy ponytail spilling over her shoulder, oblivious to the weight of my stare. How does she not feel it? Doesn’t she know she belongs with me?To me.

The guy, who I now realize is an employee here as he takes her behind the bar, doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. I can see it in the way he leans too close, his hands brushing hers as they work. She laughs again, and something sharp twists in my chest. But I can’t make a scene. Not here, not now. I force myself to stay seated, taking another long sip of the beer I no longer want. My pulse is racing, my mind a storm of possibilities. She doesn’t even glance my way, but she should. If she would just trust herself, listen to that voice inside her head, she’d look up and realize. Time to take care of that myself.

Getting up from my seat, I exit the building, making my way around the back and into the alley. My eyes search the exterior of thebar, roaming over the dumpster, the poor lighting, before I locate what I’m looking for—the breaker box. I know I’m taking a chance that it may not even be her who comes to check the breakers, but if I had to guess I would assume that the bartenders will send her while they calm the crowd inside. Approaching the box, I flip all the switches to the off position, and I can hear the disappointment spread throughout the bar in curses and screams. Quickly retreating, I find my place on the opposite side of the dumpster, pulling the mask I had hidden under my jacket out and placing it on my face. I lean against the wall, waiting for whoever comes walking out of that door.

Sure enough, a few moments later and my inquisition was correct. Dylan steps out, looking in both directions before her hazel orbs settle on the breaker box. Those damn eyes have burrowed their way into my dreams—a kaleidoscope of earthy greens, warm ambers, and golden flecks that shift with the light—I want nothing more than to stare into them while I’m seated deep inside her pussy. Before she has a chance to open the box, I make my presence known by knocking into the side of the dumpster, making a loud metallic ring. Dylan freezes like a deer in headlights, her hand hovering just above the box, her posture stiff. She glances over her shoulder, and I can see the shiver work its way up her spine. Her eyes search the alley, the dim light barely enough to illuminate her features, but I can see the fear written all over her face. I can’t help the faint smirk that tugs at my lips; she’s the most beautiful when she’s startled.

“Who’s there?” she calls out, a slight tremble to her voice. I take a slow step forward, emerging from the shadows enough for her to see me, but not make out my features. Not that it matters, not behind the mask I wear. Her breath hitches as her gaze locks onto mine. “Who—who are you? What do you want?”

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