Page 24 of Wretched Soul
Lily
Istop by my local grocery store on the way home. Monday at the office was as tedious as always, made even more insufferable by Connor. He spent most of the day using an imaginary golf club to demonstrate how our boss has helped him improve his golf swing. He’s just lucky it wasn’t a real club because I might have used it on him. I hate that his weekend was far more eventful than mine.
I can’t even bring myself to join in Kaitlyn’s conversation when she tells colleagues how I’d sweet-talked our way into Heatrush. Thanks to me, Kaitlyn had a great night. Me, not so much. I’d danced. I’d drunk water. And – with the warning from upon high still ringing in my ears – I’d kept away from anyone who looked remotely interested in approaching me.
I don’t want to be responsible for any more broken arms. If indeed anyone’s arms had been broken in my name. I’d love to ask my psycho friend about that, but he’d been a no-show, and as much as I’d tried to let the music and the dancing take over me, I hadn’t been able to relax. According to Kaitlyn, I’d missed the best part of the night. They’d played the Macarena of all things. I wish I’d been on the dance floor for that.
I fill my cart with a few essentials, determined to make a healthy meal for myself tonight, but I’m eventually drawn to the candy aisle. It is Monday after all. I’m reaching for my favorite chocolate bar when my phone rings.
I stare at the caller ID until the call goes to voicemail. An alert comes through less than a minute later. Mom’s message is a short one today, and one I have no intention of listening to. I put the chocolate bar in my cart.
When I move down the aisle, I’m vaguely aware of steady footsteps behind me. A shiver runs down my spine. Whoever it is, they’re walking with purpose and they’re close. Too close.
My steps falter and as shadows crowd me, I tighten my grip on my shopping cart. I don’t turn. I’d prefer not to make eye contact with whoever’s invading my personal space in case they see it as an invitation to engage. The store isn’t busy, but there are a couple of customers within shouting range. I take a deep breath, ready to scream, but the air carries a scent of cedar and musk. I bite down on my lip. Please, let it be him.
“I’m glad it’s not my calls you’re ignoring, Slayer,” Shade says softly.
I let go of my cart and spin around just as he’s settling at my back. I’m done with having conversations with him pressed against my spine. We stand face to face for the first time since our confrontation on the expressway. I’m close enough to kiss those wicked lips.
“You don’t have my number,” I tell him.
I drop my gaze to his mouth, catching the slightest twitch of his lips. “Don’t I?” he asks.
I’d raised my hands as I turned, and it seems the most natural thing in the world to rest them on his chest. He’s wearing a dark grey suit today, but my fingers seek out the thinner layer of his navy blue button-down shirt. His green eyes flare at my touch, but he doesn’t reciprocate by reaching for me. Whatevergame we’re playing, we don’t seem to be following the same playbook.
I tap a finger against his chest. “Would you call me?”
“Not if you’re the kind of girl who doesn’t answer her phone,” he says. There’s tension in his jaw. I think I know what he’s going to ask, and he doesn’t disappoint. “Who was it?”
“Why?” I ask. “If I say it was a guy, are you going to break his arms too?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he replies, but there’s no hint of surprise or confusion at my comment. He gives nothing away. Not ever.
I slide a hand around to his back, following the waistband of his pants.
“No, I’m not carrying a gun,” he says, reading my mind. “But feel free to pat me down if it makes you feel better.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I say, returning my hands to his chest. “This time.”
Nerves, or a death wish, make me fidget, and I slide a finger between a gap in the buttons of his shirt. My insides turn liquid when I touch warm skin, and as my breathing quickens, I feel his chest rise a little more steeply.
“Were you at the club on Saturday night?” I ask.
“Briefly,” he says. “I liked your dress.”
My stomach hollows. He was there? “Why didn’t you come and say hello?” I ask, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice.
“Because I arrived after you’d left.”
His breath warms my face. We’ve somehow moved closer. “Then how did you know what I was wearing?”
“I watched the security footage.”
I bite my lip and his gaze drops to my mouth. “To see if I was with another guy?”
His half-shrug is as close to an admission as I’m going to get. “I like to watch you.”
“I’ve noticed,” I say as I slip a second finger into the gap in his shirt. This man is driving me insane. I want to touch him, but even more, I want him to touch me. His pectoral muscles ripple beneath my fingers. “Are you stalking me, Shade?”
