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He scoffed. “You don’t know anything about me.”
He turned, and this time when he walked away, I made myself stay. Then I turned and went back to work, my cheeks burning. Why had I talked to him as if we knew each other? I’d totally embarrassed.
It was late and the place was empty when I finally clocked out. As I walked the block to the employee parking garage, I shivered, feeling nervous,
There was something about crossing streets that sent a little thrill of terror through me. As if my body remembered the accident that had changed my life, even though my mind couldn’t capture any part of it.
The parking garage was still emptying from the arena, and the streets felt packed. They’d stopped on the crosswalk. Nervously, I stepped out into the street, winding between the cars that were stopped.
A motorcycle revved, winding its way through the parked cars. I startled, realizing it was rushing up on my right side.
I had time to get out of its way, but I felt rooted to the ground, as if I couldn’t move. I stared at the motorcycle.
Suddenly, a tall, dark-haired figure stepped between me and the motorcycle, holding up his hand with an imperious gesture as if he were in charge of the street.
And honestly, he had this aura of power and magnetism, as if maybe he did.
At any rate, the motorcycle braked to an abrupt stop.
“Get out of the way!” the motorcyclist yelled, then fell silent as the man glared at him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, escorting me to the sidewalk.
The light changed and traffic began to move again. His gaze flickered up to the motorcyclist, and he raised one finger, ticking it back and forth in ano, no, nogesture. I couldn’t see the rider’s expression through his helmet, but from his posture, I could’ve sworn the other man rushed off in fear.
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”
He turned and faced me. “You shouldn’t walk alone. It’s busy here on game nights, but it’s still not safe.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Next, are you going to tell me I shouldn’t talk to strangers?”
He chuckled softly. The streetlights cast his face in hard shadows, but nothing could hide how handsome he was.
“I’m not a stranger,” he told me. “I’m Greyson.”
“Just knowing your name doesn’t mean you aren’t a stranger,” I told him.
He shrugged. The smile that crossed his face was so charming that it made me want to keep standing here on the street, talking to him.
“Can I walk you to your car?” he asked.
“That seems like exactly the kind of thing you would suggest if you were the kind of man I shouldn’t let walk me toward my car.”
“It sounds like exactly the kind of thing I would suggest if I were the kind of man who had two sisters,” he chided in response.
There was something about him that felt… magnetic.
The way I felt about my hockey boys.
He felt safe.
“Fine. You can protect me from any more rogue motorcycles.”
His answering grin was like the sun coming out.
“My name is Kennedy,” I said, sticking my hand out.
When he shook my hand, the warm, dark scent of his aftershave washed over me. There were scars on his knuckles, his palms hard. He looked polished in his suit, but his hands didn’t match.
