Page 83 of Bad Wolf

He stares at me, his gaze dipping from my eyes to my lips and then snapping back to my eyes again.

“Sorry, Yep.” He nods, “Yes. I’ll text you tomorrow once I’ve made a reservation.”

“Well, okay then. I’ll wait for your message.”

I give him a little wave which he returns and then fill my lungs with the air they so desperately need, as I close the door and lean against it.

I had no idea I was holding my breath, but I was, and now I feel dizzy.

Walking through the apartment, I head straight for the fridge. I grab one of the beers that always seem to take up the right-hand side of the top shelf and head back to the couch, dropping my jacket along the way.

Then I kick off my sandals, grab the softest blanket to ever exist and plop down in the corner of the comfy three-seater.

It takes me ages to gather my thoughts. I just kind of sit here, staring into space. How did I wake up struggling to come to terms with the fact that no matter how hard I tried, Knox was never going to give me the time of day and deciding to leave, to…this?

How did I go from being the most hopeless girl on the planet to actually having something to look forward to?

How did I go from reeling from the finality of Knox’s words outside of Full Moon to the indefinite, limitless possibilities of Knox and I forging a path to friendship?

Or even, and my heart takes flight at this thought,an actual relationship.

I’ve loved Knox since I was a kid. In theory and in practice, but now there’s a possibility of an adult love. A love that knows no bounds.

Where we’re not racing to beat curfew or steal moments in between classes. Where finding a quiet place just for us isn’t our main goal in life.

This time around it feels like more. It feels like this could be forever.

And oh, I want that. I want that so bad it scares the crap out of me.

Loving and losing Knox the first time around was devastating, barely survivable. Losing Knox a second time?

Well, that would be cataclysmic.

Fatal.

When the opposite wall has been good and stared at, and the beer drained, I head for the shower. With Scott opting to stay at Casey’s instead of coming home, I don’t feel so guilty about using up all the hot water.

I’m left with a buzz that’s not easy to shake and let’s face it, who would want to? So, after drying off and putting on a pair of shorts, leg warmers, and a crop top, I face off with the tv and start stretching. I need to dance. And sing into my hairbrush. I search for some of the songs I used to dance to in my routines and cue them up.

I’m swinging, when there’s a knock at the door. It’s not late, only eight-thirty, but I have no idea who it could be, and Scott wouldn’t need to be let in.

He’s not the type of man to mislay his keys.

Knuckles rasp loudly on the door and when I open it, I curse myself for the one-hundredth time for not checking through the peephole. One day there’s going to be a serial killer dressed as a clown on the other side, I swear it.

It’s not an axe-wielding murderer this time though. No. It’s a six-foot-two hockey star, hands braced on either side of the door frame, decked out in his dad’s worn leather jacket and a deadly smirk.

The hairbrush falls from my hand.

“So, I lied.”

“You did?” My stomach drops as dread washes over me.

He nods. “Can I come in?”

I shake my head. “I need to know what you lied about. Maybe you need some time to—”

“I lied about the slow thing. If there’s one thing I can’t fuckin’ do, Wren, it’s slow. Let me in.”

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