AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Just disembodied hands?”
“They were attached to arms.”
“Just hands, though? That’s weird.”
“No, he was holding a cat toy shaped like a ball of yarn.”
“He?”
Jameson lifts both hands and readjusts his man-bun. “Uh, they seemed like guy hands. I’m making an assumption.”
“Why a toy shaped like a ball of yarn and not a ball of yarn?”
“Because balls of yarn are dangerous for cats. Sometimes they accidentally eat pieces of the yarn, and it gets into their stomachs. Don’t listen to the cartoons.”
“Okay, I won’t. I’m not planning to have a cat, but—” How are these conversations always so weird, and so normal at the same time? “Haveyouever had a cat?”
“Nope.”
“Just a bird.”
“Just Snowball. All right.” Jameson checks in all directions around us. “Let’s head back.”
We begin our trip back along the running path.
I open my mouth to say,so, about the thing where we’re getting married in a week,and a shadow splits off from one of the trees and rushes us.
“Fuck,” Jameson says, and tries to shove me behind him.
A knife flashes in the path-light, and I amnotletting Jameson get stabbed after he just got beat up protecting me from some rogue cops. I slip in front of him.
“Lily, what thefuck.”
Jameson’s arms come down, and he picks me up off the ground.
I think his goal is to turn around and take a knife in the back to protect me, but the man—I’m pretty sure it’s a man—is closing fast, and we don’t have time.
It’s like being on the hoop. Conscious thought would only drag me down. Jameson’s grip is tight enough that I have the leverage to kick my legs up into the air and swing one around the guy’s arm.
He’s not expecting that.
I twist my body the other direction, twisting his arm along with me, and he swears out loud and drops the knife.
Jameson bends down to get it with me still in his arms, so I use the opportunity to get my feet back on the ground. The guy clutches his elbow. He darts in like he’s going to get to the knifefirst,but Jameson rises to his full height brandishing it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He stabs it toward the guy, who backs up a step. “What the fuck kind of amateur murder attempt is this? Aknife? Get out of here.”
The guy turns and runs like a scolded dog.
Jameson throws his arm around me and hustles us toward the park exit, murmuringwhat the fuck, what the fuckunder his breath.
We get inside to the lobby, and Jameson storms through. He tosses the knife at the reception desk with a clatter. “Derek, my man,” he says. The doorman is already out from behind the desk, looking at the knife with wide eyes. “Some guy tried to stab us in Central Park. Bag that up, would you? And don’t call the cops. I can’t talk to them right now. Just—you know.”
“Got it,” Derek answers, though from the look on his face, he does not, in fact, got it.
Jameson throws us both into his brother’s elevator, and it’s only when he hits the button and leans against the wall that I realize he’s shaking.
His eyes arehuge.
