Page 65 of Through the Flames
No shit, Sherlock. Or was there supposed to be some kind of deeper meaning behind it? If so, I wasn’t fucking catching on.
“Good thing I’m charming as hell,” I joked, trying to shake off the tension I had no idea what to do with.
My heart was racing as I tried to play it cool, scrambling to find my footing again. Metaphorically speaking.
Why did you even say that? Was it too direct? Too flirty? Did he even care? God, why is my brain turning every little word into a whole conversation I’ll never have?
His response is a soft snort, followed by his gaze slowly dipping to the mug he was still holding out.
“Shit, sorry. And thank you,” I blurted out, finally reaching for it, our hands brushing once more. Deliberately or accidentally, I wasn’t sure, but it sent another shower of tingles through my arm.
His presence alone was enough to make my knees weak, my nipples tightening under my loose crop top. His unwavering gaze was focused on me, but then, quick as a flash, it darted down to the hardened peaks.
My eyes widened as I stared up at him, watching his throat bob and his jaw clench ever so slightly.
Well, well, well. Not so unbothered after all.
With one last piercing look, he turned and stalked out of the room.
I was frozen in place, my thoughts igniting like a wildfire, every rational plan smoldering in the heat of what just happened.
The thought of Hunter,my new roommate, being my mysterious little acquaintance was terrifying … and thrilling.
***
I lay in bed, in just my panties and a loose shirt — no socks, because socks in bed were fucking weird — luxuriating in the feeling of the softest sheets I’d ever touched in my entire life.
They smelled like lavender and my favorite detergent. A nice, familiar smell.Too familiar.
An old sitcom I wasn’t even watching murmured from the laptop beside me. To be honest, I’d probably seen this particular show about fifteen times.
I justhatedsilence, more than anything, and in this house, it felt like asking for a haunting.
Normally, the background noise helped in cutting off the never-ending train of thought chugging through my mind, but not tonight.
Did he buy the exact same detergent on purpose?
No. That was crazy.Right?
The screen’s soft glow flickered across the pristine ceiling, the room cloaked in shadows.
My brain refused to shut the fuck up, because of course it was, after all the coincidences of the day.
Then the sound of footsteps.
Slow. Controlled.
Normally, I would’ve missed those, too immersed in whatever I was watching or listening to. But not tonight. Tonight, I was hyperfocused.
They stopped outside my door.
My heart did this weird stutter thing like it couldn’t decide between panic and excitement.
I didn’t move. Just stared up at the ceiling.
The sitcom laugh track rolled on. The footsteps didn’t. There was no sound at all; nothing.
A full beat of silence. Then retreating steps, so quiet I might’ve imagined them.
