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She doesn’t have to explain what she means bythem. Since the stuff in the bar, I’ve been waiting for those criminals to return. “I’m not sure,” I reply. “I noticed it when I was in the library. The same black car parks outside. Then, when I leave, the car leaves. It’s hard to keep track of it now. I’m going to try to lose them in the mall.”
Rachael doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Ever since I told her about my instant desire for Duke, she’s looked at me differently. Like I’m unhinged, and maybe I am.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I almost snap at her, but that’s not saying anything new. I’m always on the edge of snapping these days. “Yes,” I say. “I… I think so, at least. Listen, I have to go.”
“If you think somebody’s following—”
I hang up. It’s a shitty thing to do to a friend, but I can’t take that tone anymore. I can’t take anything lately. Even sitting in class feels muted, as if all the life and excitement has been sucked out of my day-to-day existence. The melodrama hurts and makes me feel small, but I can’t help it. Or maybe I could if I really tried, but this is my pathetic lifeline to Duke, my way of staying close to him.
I walk into a clothing store, pretending to browse the aisles, and then I spot him, a man in a black suit, dark hair slicked back and shiny. I saw him two days ago at the convenience store. He was pretending to look at the booze. I remember noticing how shiny his hair was. I’m sure of it. As soon as I left, so did he.
Hurrying past the aisles of clothes, I go to the changing rooms and find a stall. Panic is trying to wrap around my throat, tightening like a snake intent on the kill.
I take out my phone, not letting myself think about what I’m doing. Doesn’t Duke need to know if those men are following me? I doubt they will do anything to me here in public. Or maybe they will. Maybe they don’t give a damn.
Duke answers after just a couple of rings. “Molly?” His voice is urgent. “Are you okay?”
He knows I wouldn’t call him unless there was a good reason. We haven’t spoken since I stormed from his house. “Somebody’s following me.”
“Explain,” he says shortly. I quickly tell him about the car, noticing the guy in the store. “I… Wait there. I’ll come to you. I’ll explain.”
“Explain what?”
“You’re safe. This isn’t what you think. Just wait there for me, okay? I won’t be long.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have to tell you something,” he replies, his voice getting passionate. “Please.”
Hearing the desperation in hispleasepulls a reply out of me. I should tell him to explain right now, but the idea of seeing him in person sends wave after wave of desire through me. It’s not even desire. It’s more likecompletion, as if seeing him means slotting into my proper place. It feels right. “Okay, I’ll wait here.”
“You don’t have to stay in the clothing store. The food court… I can meet you there.” He pauses, almost like he doesn’t want to say the next bit. “We can finally have our date.”
Talk about screwing with my head. He hangs up before I can reply. Maybe he wanted to hang up quickly because he thought I would try to start a fight with him for his hot-and-cold routine. He can’t be makingdatecomments after everything we’ve been through.
I leave the changing room cautiously. Duke said this isn’t what I think. Then what the heck is it? His confidence is enough for me to go to the food court without freaking out. The man in the suit is gone, leaving me to wonder if he was the same one. How would Duke know anything about it?
Sitting in the corner, I wait. Duke was right when he said he wouldn’t be long. Twenty minutes later, he walks in wearing a tank and shorts. It looks like he’s been at the gym. Every woman looks at him, as they always do, and a couple of guys go over and take photos with him.
As I watch him smile for a photo, I smooth down my hair. I’m suddenly conscious of my frumpy dress and my unwashed hair. It’s messy in the extreme. I’m attempting to tame it when Duke strolls over, looking down at me, chest rising and falling with an intensity that doesn’t match the surroundings.
“Can I sit?” he says with a smirk.
“Isn’t that what people do ondates?” I shoot right back at him. I’m trying to be sassy and confident, but the emphasis ondatessounds desperate more than anything.
He sits, placing his hand on the table near mine. I think he’s going to hold my hand. I want it so badly that I almost snatch onto his and hold on tightly. Instead, I put my hands under the table to not embarrass myself.
“Well?” I ask. “What did you mean when you said this isn’t what I think? Do you know why I’m being followed? Did you cut a deal with those thugs or something?”
“A deal to…” He narrows those intense eyes. He’s got a light silver beard as if he’s found it as difficult to shave as I have to wash my hair. “To have those men follow you?”
I shrug and stick my bottom lip out, trying to look tough. I’m trying to look like I didn’t almost shatter when he said it was over because Rachael is right. This is weird and insane. “Yeah, why’s that so crazy? Maybe you offered me up to them or something.”
He clenches his fists. When he trembles, the table shakes. It’s like he’s going to flip it. Veins push against his neck like he’s struggling to hold himself back, his shoulders tensing like giant boulders in his shirt.
“I’d never do that,” he says, his voice as shaky as his body. “I’d never put you at risk. That’s just sick. The men following you… I hired them just in case those thugs returned and found you. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
