“When will you leave again?” I ask quietly, ripping a corner of my sandwich wrapper.
I’m back in the dumpster alley. With my Ghost dot. I just couldn’t help myself, so when the tracker app called, I answered. Maybe I’m doing this because there’s been a bad feeling growing inside me. Badandgood. Like a split between the past and the future. A dark foreboding for what’s ahead that makes me forget about the pain of what’s already been.
“Sometime next week,” he says, flashing a playful smirk. “Why? Will you miss me?”
“What’s there to miss?” I say snootily, nose tipped high.
His eyes darken, and he steps closer. So close I can smell the leather of his cut. I have to tilt my head all the way back to keep eye contact.
That look on his face turns the stubborn panty palpitations I can’t seem to shake into a full-on panty storm.
“I can give you something to miss, adorable,” he murmurs, a needy, quiet groan in his voice. “If you’d only let me.” He leans closer. “Just say the word.”
He tugs gently on my bottom lip, then steps back before I even realize what’s happening.
“You’re not ready though,” he adds quietly, taking a bite of his Monte Cristo.
My breath comes back to me. For a few seconds, I just inhale and exhale, riding out the wave of confusing emotions inside me.
“I’ll never be ready,” I whisper when I finally find my voice. I glance down at my shoes, then back at him. “I won’t deny there’s attraction. But there’s also too much history.”
His shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. “That history that you’re afraid of is what actually makes us stronger.”
“You don’t really believe that,” I frown.
“I do,” he nods. “We’re both forged in hellfire. We belong together. And I intend to prove it to you.”
A pause. His eyes narrow, drifting to the side.
“Somehow.”
I don’t think I was meant to hear that whispered word. The boyish determination in it makes me press my lips together to hold back a chuckle. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s just getting drunk on water.
I clear my throat. Square my shoulders. “I think we can agree to disagree on this topic.”
He looks at me like he knows something I don’t. I ignore it. Only time will convince him we’re better apart than together.
“You said I could ask you more questions if I had any,” I continue. “Is that offer still on the table?”
“Everythingis always on the table for you, adorable.” There’s that tone again. “Ask away,” he adds casually, like he didn’t just imply that his dick is on that metaphorical table too, right next to the questions.
I shoot him a glare but don’t call him out. There’s no time for that. My lunch break is almost over, and Iamcurious.
“Have you been watching me from this place the whole time I was ignoring you?”
“While you were working, yeah,” he nods. Then he smiles, just barely. “I have other hiding spots too. Do you want me to show them to you?”
That idea — walking around town with him while he shows me his secrets — sends an unwanted spark of pleasure through me. I shove it down.
“How come you didn’t just barge into my bookstore when you came back to town?” I squint, suspicion rising inside me. “Let’s not pretend you still felt the need to hide this time.”
“Are you disappointed?” The heat in his gaze could turn everything around us to ash. His voice drops. “Did you want me to come?” He steps closer. “Maybe break into your bookstore? Surprise you with that day’s note myself?”
“As if!” I snap, suddenly feeling ten years old. I pull my phone out and wave it between us like a shield. “I would’ve known anyway. I see every move you make now.”
“Careful, adorable,” he says, glancing at my phone, then back at me. “You might end up turning into a stalker like me.”
He moves even closer. Just a few inches away. His expression softens in a way that’s rare enough to almost daze me. He catches a strand of my hair and wraps it around his finger.
