Did he hear me? Shit.
He placed a bottle of Tylenol on the counter. “Card, thank you, Katie,” he told her, lifting his hand over my shoulder.
He knew her.
“Anytime.” Her cheeks flushed as if she were greedy for his eyes. Of course she was.
He faced me and then took the bar of candy out of my hand. “Why are you getting this? You’re allergic to peanut butter,” he said.
My cheeks flushed for what felt like the millionth time today. I hadn’t bothered to look at what I’d grabbed—I’d just needed something so I had an excuse to talk to the woman. The one who was betraying me.
“That could’ve been bad,” I said dramatically.
He took a step toward me, and I took one closer to the door. He was agitated with me and completely aware of my escape tactics.
I glanced at him behind me. God, he was such a terrible man. A terrible man who wouldn’t leave me alone. I felt like a sheep waiting to be herded; Max could steer me in any direction just by stepping closer. Standing next to him, having to deal with the nerves he brought out—it was too much.
So for every step he took toward me, I took one away.
His long legs gave him an advantage in catching up, which I thought was unfair. I didn’t know where we were going, and I didn’t ask either.
Eventually, he stopped me at another door, and we entered an old-fashioned diner, with vintage posters and faded photographs plastered to the walls, each one different.
He walked me to a booth. “Sit.”
Max was more demanding than I remembered.
Stepping up onto a small ledge, I slid into the red leather banquette. Duke lay at my feet, and Max sat across from me, his expressions inexplicable. I could feel the heat of his stare, and it wasn’t welcoming, no matter how handsome he may be.
It felt like I was being studied, and I was doomed to fail. He knew I was nervous. The way he watched me, he read me like a book. What was he up to? Why was he dragging this out? If he wanted to punish me, he needed to get on with it.
What did he expect? Did he want me on my knees begging for his forgiveness? Fat chance. I wasn’t sorry—not one bit. In fact, given the opportunity, I’d do it all again.
A young woman with an apron and a warm smile approached the table. “What can I get you two?” she asked, adjusting the pad of paper in her hands.
“Coffee with hazelnut cream,” Max said, ordering for me. “Black for me.”
I could feel so many memories attacking me at once. Max remembered so much about me, down to the tiniest detail. Part of me thought it was sweet. The other part couldn’t help but wonder why he’d remembered all these details.
He wasobsessive.
In a strange way, I supposed that was a good thing. I’d once learned—during a late-night deep dive down an internet rabbit hole—that serial killers showed mercy if they were familiar with facts about the victim. I guess it made them feel a sliver of empathy, which I hoped Max had for me.
Considering how he remembered so much about me already—obsessive asshole—I figured I stood a chance.
At least I hoped.
He pushed his sleeves up his forearm, revealing his tattooed arms, and stared at me. “You’ve changed the way you wear your hair,” he murmured.
We’re really doing this? Okay, here we go ...
“Yes,” I said. I straightened my hair now instead of leaving it natural. “I changed everything you liked about me. Figured you would’ve gotten the hint by now.”
“Ah,” he drawled, lifting his lip gently. “You thought about me long enough to assume my opinion. Your efforts have been noted, no matter how useless.”
Was that supposed to mean he liked my hair no matter how I wore it? A rebellious thought lingered in the back of my mind.If he was so fixated on my hair, maybe shaving it off would be the ultimate act of defiance. The thought was so outlandish, so childish, so utterly reckless.
Gosh, he could be so frustrating. I’d forgotten that about him.
