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Well, okay. Still not seeing anyone. The side street is deserted and kind of dark. What am I doing, following a dog? I’m more distracted than I thought, by Ross, to be so careless. So thoughtless.
But as I stop, trying to catch my breath, I look up and I catch a glimpse of someone on the roof of the garage.
Swallowing a gasp, I step back until my back hits the fence lining the street. I’m lost in shadows, but the flickering street lamp on the main street illuminates him clearly where he stands, balancing on the very edge of the roof.
That impossibly pale hair is a dead giveaway.
Ross? What the hell is he doing?
I open my mouth to shout at him to get down, to step back, anything but stand so precariously on the rusty roof with the twenty-foot drop to the street below, when the ruby embers of a cigarette light up his face.
He’s smoking.
And then he opens his arms like he’s about to fly, and a gasp leaves my lips. I prepare to scream—would screaming be a good idea if someone is about to jump off a roof?—for him to stop, fear slamming my heart about in my chest, drying out my mouth. He kinda looks like an angel up there, his open shirt flapping in the breeze, his pale hair gleaming.
But then he flicks the cigarette off, letting it drop, and he sits down on the roof edge, letting his long legs dangle over the side, black boots hitting the metal wall with a bang that I feel in my bones.
A long breath leaves my lungs.
I wonder if Ross will see me. He doesn’t seem to look my way, though. He lights up another cigarette and puffs on it as I skulk away, my heart still racing, my palms damp, and not sure how I feel.
Still scared.
Also angry that he made me so afraid. That I worry. That Dena was right. I can’t pretend not to care anymore, and that’s not good at all.
Chapter Ten
Ross
The diner is my hide-out when things get bad, and they’re bad now. I’m still hungover from last night, sore from working heavy construction, my mind fuzzy and my ribs aching from the most recent beating that left me sprawled out in an alley with blood in my mouth and laughing at the justice of it all.
A girl is walking among the tables of the diner and I’ve been idly watching her, trying to remember her name. She’s been working here since forever, but for some reason I can never remember anything about her—name, face, body. I’m frowning, when someone comes to stand over me.
“Coffee?” a girly voice says and I nod automatically even as the sound lights up a spark inside my chest.
Wait a minute...
I look up into her pretty face, caught off guard, and damn if my gaze doesn’t dip and snag on that pouty mouth, sliding down to her cleavage and the swell of her round tits.
“Hey, bright eyes,” I murmur, grinning up at her, all cocksure attitude and a strange joy I can’t decipher.
Then jerk away when she pours the scalding coffee, splashing it over my fingers. “Ow shit!” I shake out my hand, more shocked than in pain. “What did you do that for?”
“Sorry,” she whispers, face going red. “I’ll get a rag to clean the mess.”
“Don’t bother.” I grab a paper napkin and blot the small puddle of coffee, curiosity making me examine her expression again, and my smartass mouth takes over. “I guess I distract you too fucking much. Look at you all flustered. Sweet cheeks, I know I’m hot but I didn’t realize I get you so worked up.”
“What?” Her eyes snap at me, wide. “What are you talking about?”
“You. You’re hot for me, aren’t you?”
Her shock finally turns to anger. “Oh, get over yourself, Ross Jones. Newsflash: nobody’s flustered and nobody wants you.”
“That so?” I arch a brow at her and lean back in my chair. Flirting and pushing, that’s me, always pushing, and I don’t care if it’s to cover up for my instant reaction to her, my own weakness. “You’re out of breath, and those pretty cheeks of yours are red. You’re flustered, alright.” I leer at her, leaning back and spreading my legs a little. “From wanting me.”
She’s still angry, but a note of panic enters her gaze. “Stop this.”
“Why? Afraid everyone in here will hear that you’re hot for me? Aching, wet for me?” I lean toward her. “Afraid of what they’ll think of you?”
