Page 49 of His To Erase
His gaze sweeps over my face like he’s dissecting me cell by cell—filing away every twitch, every breath, every lie I think I’ve hidden.
“I know enough.”
That shouldn’t make my knees loosen or my pulse stutter like a faulty wire. But it does.
God, I hate how still he is. Like nothing I say can touch him. It feels like he’s always five moves ahead and doesn’t even care if I catch up.
And yeah, that does something to me, but it mostly pisses me off. Like who the fuck is this man?
This gorgeous, cocky, too-quiet, infuriating man with a stare that feels like a loaded gun and a mouth I want to both slap and sit on.
I want to demand answers, but all I can do is stand here, trying not to tremble, while my brain screams run—and my body whispers closer.
“Is that what you do?” I ask, crossing my arms to keep from fidgeting. “Follow women around and say cryptic shit to feel mysterious?”
That almost-smile ghosts across his face, and it’s unfairly devastating.
“Only the ones who pretend they’re not looking over their shoulder.”
My heart misses a beat.
“Maybe I just don’t like being followed.”
He tilts his head. “You’d rather be alone in the dark?”
“I’ve handled worse.”
His eyes gleam, catching the halo of the streetlamp behind me. That smile fades, just enough to show what’s underneath.
“I don’t doubt it.”
I swallow the lump that rises in my throat, hating how that almost sounds like a compliment. Part of me wonders how much he thinks he knows. Because the truth is—I still don’t know his name, and yet, somehow, he feels like a secret I’ve already told.
“You got a name, shadow?” I ask, not even pretending to hide the edge in my voice.
“No.”
Then—he smirks. Like that one-word answer is a fucking mic drop.
Which, unfortunately, it is.
Goddammit.
My apartment’s close, so I start walking again, only I don’t want him to know where I live, so my steps are slow.
“You always this twitchy when someone walks you home, or am I just special?”
I glance at him over my shoulder, one brow arched. “You’re a guy in a hoodie following me down a dark street. Forgive me if I don’t feel like swooning.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Swooning would be dramatic. I was aiming for mildly flustered.”
“You’ll be aiming for a black eye if you keep talking.”
That earns a grin. One of those slow, crooked ones that makes it way too easy to forget how dangerous he feels. Lord, the things I would let this man do to me.
“Didn’t realize threats were your love language.”
I face forward, ignoring the heat crawling up my neck. “They’re my everything language.”
