Page 47 of Spring Break Fling

He was quiet for a second. “That’s fine. You don’t have to tell me anything. You will one day.”

Busted.

It was my way of deflecting.

“We should head back,” he said.

I felt like I disappointed him. If this were a normal date, I would of course tell him something. But this wasn’t normal. I didn’t want to reveal too much. It made me feel vulnerable. In the end, we both knew this wasn’t an actual thing. I would go back home and that would be that. There would be no reason for me to ever come back to Miami.

He moved off the hood and went back to the driver’s seat. I got in the car and settled in. I wasn’t surprised he drove a sports car.

Of course, he did.

The guy liked fast cars and bikes. It was part of him. I did feel like I had the upper hand here. I knew a little about him and he knew nothing about me.

Just as I was starting to relax, he muttered a sharp, “Shit,” and stomped on the brake.

The car jerked to a stop hard enough to have the seatbelt digging into my shoulder. I grabbed for the dashboard. “What?”

“I’ll be right back,” he said, already halfway out of the car.

“Wait, what—where are you going?” I demanded, but he was gone.

I looked out the window and realized we were at the shop. Nikko was cursing. I didn’t understand what was happening.

That was when I saw it—the shattered glass glittering on the sidewalk. My stomach twisted as I realized the shop’s front door was smashed in.

The unease started small, but it grew quickly, spreading through me like wildfire. Nikko had disappeared inside without a second thought.

“What if someone’s still in there?” I whispered to myself, panic rising. I glanced around. The street was nearly deserted at this hour, and the idea of waiting alone in his car suddenly felt less safe than braving the unknown.

Without thinking, I shoved the car door open and hurried across the street, my strappy heels threatening to take me to pavement. But I persevered.

The broken glass crunched underfoot as I stepped cautiously into the shop. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a reminder that this was stupid. I wasn’t exactly action-hero material. This was how people died.

“Nikko?” I called softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

In the back of my mind, I realized I should yell. I should make my presence known and scare off the burglar. Or would that make me a target?

The shop was eerily still. My nerves were on edge, every shadow and flicker of movement sending adrenaline coursing through me.

“Nikko,” I whispered again.

I crept in a little further.

Then I saw him. He stood up from behind the counter, scaring the bejeezus out of me.

“Dammit! What the hell?!”

He was staring into the open register like it had personally betrayed him. He turned and punched the wall, causing me to jump back.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice low and raw.

I didn’t have to guess what happened. It was pretty clear the register had been wiped out.

“You should call the police,” I said. “I’ll go get my phone.”

His head snapped up, his eyes locking on mine. For a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then his jaw tightened. I could see the barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface.