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He nods and slips my sock and shoe back on before sliding my pant leg down. When he stands, he once again offers me his hand to help me stand.

“You know…” he trails off. “If you want to see me, there are easier ways than getting hurt.”

I suck in a breath before laughing.

“I mean, if that’s the case, there are easier ways to see me aside from always being my medic.”

Augustus laughs, and once again, I’m charmed by the sound of it.

I try to ignore the tingles I feel when our skin touches. And the way his laughter and fangy smile make my pulse flutter.

I fail miserably.

Augustus picks up my groceries and looks around the lot. “Where are you parked?” he asks.

“Um, nowhere.”

He gives me a quizzical look as I cringe.

“I walked. My car is still being repaired.”

When he frowns at me, a little line appears between his brows. “Well, as a medical professional, I can’t let you further your injury by walking. Can I offer to take you home, or would you rather I wait with you while you call a ride share?”

I can tell he wants to say more but stops himself.

Again, I’m struck by the way he handles me. No, not handles me. Reads me. Like we’ve known each other forever, and he understands the way my mind works.

Offering to drive me himself or wait with me for a ride share.

Giving me all the control instead of taking it. Making sure my comfort is the priority. According to protocols of my own creation, I should decline his offer and wait for a ride share.

The thing is, he’s already seen where I live. Right down to the apartment number. That should freak me out.

It doesn’t.

More importantly, I trust Augustus. I know that he’s not going to hurt me.

Which is why I say, “I’d appreciate a ride to my house if you have the time.”

I know I’m breaking protocol, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

Chapter 8

The Universe Hates Me

CORDELYA

Augustus sets the bags back down and helps me ease back into the passenger seat. As soon as I’m in, he closes the door and grabs the groceries to load into the trunk. When he climbs into the driver’s seat, he gives me a reassuring smile.

“I realize this is a short drive, but do you have a music preference?”

“Not particularly. I’ve been told my playlist can give a person whiplash.”

His face splits into a fangy smile as he turns the car on.

“Variety is the spice of life,” he muses, queuing up a playlist his car stereo shows labeled as “Mix Tape One.”

A giggle slips out before I can stop it.