CHAPTER THREE
Lunaflippedonherblinker and turned into the Turnbuckle’s parking lot. She cruised around the lot until she found an empty spot next to Calliope’s big truck, pulled into it, and shut off her car. She reached over to the passenger seat, grabbed her small crossbody carry bag, and set it in her lap. She dug out her lip gloss, flipped down the visor to apply a thin layer, and checked her hair in the mirror.
“What am I doing?” She quickly slapped the visor back up and shoved her gloss back into her bag.
During the past several years, she’d gotten really adept at playing down her looks in an effort to keep from drawing attention to herself.
You can’t become a target if you don’t stand out.A strange mantra for someone who was only twenty-four years old. Though sometimes she felt much older.
She wore minimal makeup, if any at all. Her hair was usually up in either a ponytail or some kind of sloppy bun, and she rarely wore anything other than sneakers, jeans, and generic polos or T-shirts.
As far back as she could remember, people would tell her parents how cute or beautiful both of their daughters were.How they could be models.Ugh.It wasn’t like she or Dawn had any control over the way they looked, so it had always felt super weird.
They’d just gotten lucky in the genetic lottery.
Dawn’s striking Mediterranean looks came from their handsome dad’s Greek side of the family, and Luna got her delicate looks and fair, peaches-and-cream complexion from their attractive mother’s English-Irish side of the family.
“What am I doing here?” Her head dropped back against the headrest, and she closed her eyes.
Being around Boone in a social setting could be a colossal mistake. Because the more she was around him, the more she liked him. And she didn’t trust herself enough to like any man.
The last time she’d done that—it had proven to be fatal.
Knock, knock, knock.Someone rapped quietly on her window.
“ACK!” Her eyes shot open, and her hand flew to her bag.
She turned to find the current, albeit gorgeous, bane of her existence—and emotional sanity—leaning down and looking at her through her driver’s side window.
“Are you okay?” Boone’s brows were crowded together, and he sounded genuinely concerned. “You’ve been sitting here for a few minutes.”
Had she actually been stupid enough to doze off? She knew better than to let her guard down like that. She should’ve gone home and gone to bed instead of agreeing to go out to dinner.
You know you wanted to see him one last time today.
“I’m … I’m fine.” She patted her bag. “And you’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”
Then he did the rudest thing—he smiled and laughed.
“Shoot me, huh?” His gaze dropped to her bag. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re carrying.”
“Duh.”Real mature, Luna.
“Are you coming in, or are you going to chicken out?” He watched her so intently she could almost feel his gaze on her skin.
She narrowed her eyes at him. Cursed man seemed to love challenging her.
“Why would I chicken out?” She looped her bag over her head so it nestled against her chest and flung the door open. He took a step backward to avoid being hit.
“Oops. Sorry.”Not really. “Why would I chicken out? I’m just here to hang out with my friends.”
She turned to swing the door shut and felt him move up behind her. Not so close that she felt trapped against the car but close enough to feel the heat radiating from his large body.
“Am I your friend, Luna?” His warm breath swept across the top of her head.
Something about the huskiness in his voice brushed across her skin like a physical stroke, and her stomach fluttered in a strange and not-so-awful way. No man’s voice had ever affected her in that way before.
She spun around, fulling intending to tear into him, to tell him to back the heck up and give her some space. But then her breasts brushed against his chest, and every sharp word, every forceful glare she might’ve mustered disappeared into the ether, and all she could do was stare up at him with her mouth hanging open.
