Clearly, my daycouldget worse.
I saw him a million times in high school, but we were never really in the same circles. He was always there, in thebackground. One of those guys who never stood out unless you were really looking for him. And I wasn’t.
“Oh, you didn’t?” I snap, cutting him off before I even register what I’m doing. The pain in my foot makes my words come out sharper than they should. “Maybe next time, try keeping your damn toolbox to yourself!”
His face tightens. “Look, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care if you meant to or not!” I practically bark, the anger still sizzling in my chest, a fire that won’t go out. Why did I even leave the house today? “This shit could have broken my damn toe. And with the day I’m having?—”
His eyes flash. “What’s your problem, Lo?”
I don’t like his tone of voice. No wonder we never spoke in high school.
“My problem? Really?” I laugh bitterly, unable to stop myself. “This stupid town is my problem. What do you think?”
Ford’s jaw clenches, and I see the way his body shifts. He’s debating whether to step closer. He doesn’t. But I can feel it: the pull of his presence, that invisible force settling in between us.
His scent swirls around me, pine sap and something like worn leather. It infiltrates my lungs and stops everything in its tracks. And for a moment, I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t even muster the strength to get angry.
It’s as if his mere presence has crawled into my ribs and threatened to stitch the hurt back together, soothing it away.
“I didn’t mean to?—”
I grit my teeth. His words hit harder than they should. I have to get away. “Whatever. Have a good?—”
His scent hits me again. The sharp Alpha scent of him. Leather and Christmas trees and rain. It grabs me by the throat and threatens to yank me closer. My stomach twists. Desire seeps down my spine, and I can feel a whine bubbling up the back of my throat.
I have to leave.
“Lo…” Ford starts again, more softly.
There’s a tension hanging between us, thick and unbearable. His eyes drop to my lips, then snap back up to my eyes. He’s fighting something.
Like I’m fighting something.
“Don’t.” I take a step back, shaking my head. My voice is more of a croak than I’d like. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asks, his own breath catching in his throat.
I want to scream at him, at myself. I want to shove him away, but my body’s betraying me, pushing me toward him when I just want to leave.
This can’t be. He can’t be my scent match.
I would have known much sooner than this.
I raise a hand, cutting him off before he has another chance to speak with that voice of his already raking across my bones. “Don’t apologize. I’m not interested in hearing it. Not from you, not from anyone in this godforsaken town. Try to keep your toolbox out of my way, or it’ll take me and my broken toes longer to get the hell out of here.”
My chest is rising and falling too fast, too hard. I can feel the need in my veins, threatening to overcome me completely.
There’s something else, deep and raw, that makes me feel exposed. Vulnerable.
He doesn’t speak. Just looks at me with those assessing eyes that seem to darken with every word I speak.
Leave. Now.
I obey the voice in my head.
“I’m done,” I hiss, spinning on my heel.
