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We walk along the sidewalk outside the restaurant, and my eyes shift around to see if anyone looks suspicious. Nothing is out of the ordinary, and I don’t recognize anyone. When I look over, I see Andreas is also surveying our surroundings.
He hooks his elbow through mine as we walk.
“Relax,” he orders. My shoulders sink. All the tension we had built up flirting with each other over drinks has dissipated. My weird secret admirer ruined the moment, and no amount of teasing is going to heighten it to those levels again, at least not this evening.
“I wish I knew who was messing with me. I feel like I have to be on high alert constantly. It’s stressing me out. I haven’t even mentioned we were meeting to anyone other than my best friends from back home, so there’s no way anyone could say I was with another man unless they saw us.” Sighing, I say, “I’m sorry my weird life put a damper on our evening. I feel like shit now.”
Andreas stops and steps off into an alleyway to the right of us. The tall buildings give us a semblance of privacy to the hustle and bustle of Monday evening shoppers.
“Don’t do that. Donotblame yourself. You have done nothing to warrant this type of behavior, and I don’t want to hear you apologize on behalf of someone else. Do you understand me? And trust me, nothing could extinguish the way you taking your panties off for me makes me feel.”
His clipped tone showcases how serious he is. Listening to him say none of this is my fault makes me feel better. I wonder if I should mention my door being open last night. I don’t know if anyone went into my apartment, but with everything else going on, it seems possible.
“You’re right. Rationally, I know it isn’t my fault. What the hell am I supposed to do? The cops would laugh me out of the room if I tried to bring a couple of vague texts and a half-remembered message left for me at work. Shit, you can’t even get a protective order against an abuser until they beat the hell out of you.”
“Has anything else happened? Other than the notes and texts? You mentioned flowers before,” he says while tipping my chin up, so I’m looking at him.
“When I got home from work last night, my front door was wide open. This is the second time that’s happened. I don’t have proof that anyone went inside, but I called the police. They sent a patrol officer to do a walkthrough. He found nothing out of place, and neither did I,” I say.
I feel like crying, but I hold it in as I talk through my feelings.
“The front door was open? Did you tell the cop that had happened once before? There’s no way this isn’t all connected, Alana.”
I turn away from him and stare out at the people, all oblivious to the two of us standing in the dark. “I’m still choosing to believe it’s all just to fuck with me. Wouldn’t I notice if I interacted with someone crazy enough to stalk me? People can’t just hide those types of feelings, right?” I ask.
He wraps his arms around me and kisses the side of my head. “Most serial killers fly under the radar. I’m not saying that to scare you, but I think you should take precautions and take this seriously.”
Air rushes out of me in a huff. “I know. And I am. I bought a deadbolt for my front door, and my lease is almost up. I won’t be there for long.”
“Good.” Something dark flashes in his eyes as he moves closer to me. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he asks.
His nearness emboldens me to close the distance between us. I lean in and press my lips against his. The kiss is chaste. Our mouths are both closed, and neither of us is applying much pressure. Andreas leans his body weight into mine, slowly backing me into the wall. His lips are warm and unbelievably soft.
My breathing races as he deepens the kiss, parting his lips just enough to run his tongue along my bottom lip. He lifts his left hand and cups the back of my head, pressing me into him. The alcohol that we just drank mingles between our mouths, and it feels as though our hearts are beating together in synchrony. Our tongues meet for the first time, and I feel euphoric, more intoxicated from the kiss than the vodka cranberries. The gentle touch of his tongue against mine leaves my head feeling fuzzy, and I can feel the pulsation of my heart resonate down to my toes.
Andreas groans into my mouth before sucking on my tongue, and then he breaks away. His callused hands run up and down my arms while he stares down into my eyes. Then he takes my left hand and leads me out of the alleyway, back into the hectic crowd of summer shoppers. He laces his fingers through mine as we walk toward a cute little bookstore in the art district.
“The next time I kiss you like that, I won’t be able to stop until I taste your cunt. You should be careful about kissing me in public. Exhibitionism has always intrigued me,” he says.
30
Chapter Thirty
Alana
Our interlocked hands cause my fingers to tingle, and any lingering anxiety from the text message dissipates. Something about him makes it incredibly hard to be anything other than enchanted whenever Andreas is close by. Well, enchanted or pissed off, depending on the day.
Silence envelops us as we walk while I mull over his exhibitionist comment. The idea of Andreas pleasuring me in public has me feeling both vulnerable and aroused.
Who am I?
I’ve never even considered having sex in public before, and two minutes ago, I was seconds away from lifting my skirt and begging for it. The thought alone has me panting and losing my mind.
“What are you doing to me?” I ask Andreas as we walk into the bookstore.
He guides me with his hand at the small of my back, and we pass an old woman sitting behind the checkout desk. Her hair is white and long and flows over her shoulders. The wrinkles on her face remind me of Mrs. Claus, and she has tiny black glasses perched on the end of her nose. She’s wearing a long tie dye dress that seems faded from years of wear. Her neck, wrists, and fingers have jewelry adorning them.
She smiles warmly at us as she welcomes us into the store. The shop itself is small, with an open concept floor plan with walls lined with bookshelves. I feel at peace as I smell the slightly vanilla-like scent of the wood-based paper breaking down in the old books, and the chemical smell of ink, solvents, and adhesives that make up the binding of the new books.
