I don’t want to talk to strange women about meaningless things. I don’t want to take a number I have no intention of calling. I don’t want to force an attraction to someone when all I can think about are silvery-blue eyes and shiny brown hair and a body that’s even sexier than I ever imagined.
I was trying not to look last night. I really was. But there were some things I couldn’t help noticing, like Hazel’s voluptuous curves and her tucked-in waist and the luscious swell of her breasts. In the brief time that passed before I wrapped the emergency blanket around her, her gorgeous body was seared into my memory.
But it’s not just Hazel’s body I can’t stop thinking about. Or how she looks, period.
It’s how she felt in my arms when I held her.
It’s how she looked for me at the hospital, her expression lighting up in relief once she saw me.
It’s her enthusiasm for so many things—working at Blissful Brews, volunteering at Rory’s shelter, engaging with all the people in town like she’s notjust being polite, but really wants to know how they’re doing, talking about that game of hers…
It’s the way she smiles at me. And the way my heart does funny things whenever she does.
I know it’s better staying single.
For nearly five years, there was never any question of it.
But the more time I spend with Hazel, the more I wonder if I’m making the right choice, after all.
While I was casting about for an excuse to give Ronan, Knox’s wife, Lark, came to my rescue. “Maybe Alec just wants to stay home,” she offered. “Do some hiking. Binge some of his strange alien movies. Nothing wrong with a quiet weekend at home. I know I enjoy it.”
Then she gave me a sly little side smile as she added, “Or maybe he wants to stick around town. Have a few drinks at Blissful Brews.” And from the meaningful look she gave me, Iknewshe had seen me and Hazel talking last night.
Everyone knows what happened to Hazel’s car, of course. I called Enzo—founder of GMG and the de facto leader—to fill him in as soon as I got to the hospital.
No, Hazel’s not a client. But she’s a local. We all know her. Like her.
Shit, in my case, I like her a lot.
So if it turns out the brake failurewasn’tan unfortunate accident, I want to be prepared for it. Logicsays it’s more likely a fluke. Or a faulty part. Human error when the brakes were installed. But if Hazel’s had those same brakes for eight months, why now?
Maybe it’s lingering paranoia from my time in the Army, when I learned the best way to survive was to suspect everything. And in the wake of Sawyer’s betrayal, even the people I thought I could trust with my life.
Or maybe the accident was intentional.
I can’t imagine anyone in town wanting to hurt Hazel. But then again, there are plenty of innocent people who’ve been targeted by monsters. Winter, for example, and her piece of garbage ex. Lark and that crazy man who tried to kill her. And Rory, who was the target of multiple attempts on her life all because of her money.
Maybe it was a fluke.
I really hope it was.
Rolling my neck and shoulders, I try to release some of the tension from them. I’ve been trying to clear my mind ever since I got home, first through a punishing workout in my home gym and then, after a shower, finishing the rest of Frank’s soup while I watch a poorly-made science fiction movie on TV.
With a glance at the screen, I realize I’ve missed a decent portion of it while my thoughts have been wandering. Last I remember, the aliens had just infiltrated the water supply in the form of microscopic beings. And now the hapless hero is being chased bylurching half-alien-half-humans through a desolate city.
It’s not a good movie by any means. The special effects are terrible, and the actors deliver their lines with the enthusiasm of a brick wall. I already know how the movie will end—with the hero discovering the aliens’ weakness and destroying them all single-handedly.
But I like this kind of movie, anyway. There’s something comforting about its predictability. Plus, my dad got me into sci-fi movies as a kid, so watching them always brings back fond memories.
Feeling restless, I push up off the couch and head over to the window, staring out into the darkness. My house is tucked into the woods, with the closest neighbor a good quarter mile away, so at night, there’s nothing to see outside but the moon and the stars.
Or on an overcast night like tonight, it’s more like a blanket of black surrounding me. Some people might not like that, the feeling of absolute solitude, but I do.
And if I get tired of the peace and quiet, it’s not like I have far to go to civilization. Stowe is only about four miles northeast of here, and Bliss is fifteen miles, though if I traveled as the crow flies, as my dad likes to say, it would only be a third of that.
I slide open the window and breathe in the crisp fallair. It’s one of the things I like about living in rural Vermont—how clean the air is. It’s a welcome change from the choking humidity of the Middle East, coupled with the all too frequent stench of buildings burning.
A slight shiver brings to mind Hazel again.
