He does follow though.He follows on quiet steps, his eyes catching every detail of our surroundings. The damp, dark warehouse smells of mildew and the decaying body I planted here last week.
Yes, home sweet home.
If Jameson notices any of it, he doesn’t show it. I lounge with my leg thrown over a rusted chair. The metal bites into the underside of my thighs. I try to keep a lazy and tired appearance, but the way he watches me sets my nerves on edge.
The life of a huntress is a quiet one. Not lonely exactly. In the Lifeless League I’m surrounded by fellow assassins, but there is nothing to talk about. We’re a group of individuals with everything in common, but it’s safer not to speak of our crimes. The less you know, the less incriminating you are.
So we don’t speak. The days pass quietly.
Until today.
“Nice place you got here.” His sculpted shoulder leans against the dirty wall as he studies me closely.
A simple nod is my only response.
“You come here often?”
I cock a brow at him.
At that terrible question, I do answer.
“Do you always use pick-up lines as small talk, or am I just really special?”
A smile that makes my insides tangle around themselves tilts his full lips.
“Tylin said you were dangerous. I’m starting to think Tylin doesn’t know you as well as I do.”
Jameson has a confidence that tells me he gets laid.A lot.
It’s annoying. Not charming at all if you’re paying attention to the intentional things he does. The smile. The posture. The slow, raking, eye fucking he’s constantly doing.
A shaking breath parts my lips.
Completely annoying I tell you.
“All targets have ratings based on our evaluations. Danger ratings and such.” He nods as I speak. He’s aware. “The file I have on you rates you as a five, did you know that?” It’s a lie. A five isn’t a threat at all. Judging by his electric show, he’s a solid nine if not higher. But I can’t help but kick him in the balls just to see how fragile his ego is.
“A five. I’m not a five anything. You should reevaluate your math, love.”
His sweet little nicknames are raking on my every nerve.
“It’s a little lower because of thatother thing.” I tilt my head in a deliberate but hush-hush way.
His eyes narrow on me. He’s waiting to see if I’ll say more, and I’m waiting to see what he’ll confess to.
When he relents, his features soften. The stiffness in his shoulders dissolves.
“I suppose that’s fair. Erectile dysfunction would lower anyone’s score.”
My lips part and I can’t think of a single thing to say to him. My shock only makes him smile more, if that’s possible.
“I’m kidding. Fuck, stop looking at me like my cock is breaking your heart or something. Tell me I’m a ten, and we’ll just both move on from this awkward way you’re looking at me.”
“You arenota ten.”
Maybe in the face. Jameson has the face of a Greek god. The body of a warrior. Personality of an eggplant.
Definitely not a ten.
