He quickens his steps as I gape at him, stopping a safe distance away, always mindful of personal space, and sighs, “Jamie, you’re okay.”
“John… We—I thought—” I thought he was dead.He should be dead.
Even with how pale he is, even with how he winces with any movement of his arm, that crooked smile pulls up the corner of his mouth.
“I thought so, too.”
Heshouldbe dead, though.He ran into a fucking machete.He should be lying in pieces downstairs, but he isn’t and it’s impossible.
“What—How…”
He moves closer, his injured arm extending and cupping my face with his palm.There’s a swoop and pull in my gut as the divining rod I thought was finely tuned finally kicks in.
Oh… Oh,no.
“It’s okay,” John murmurs, his gaze imploring, his hold on my face tightening as he steps into me.Leansin.I’m hit with a cloying, semi-familiar smell and it makes my breath catch when I place it, like someone’s spilled a cocktail down my back.My body goes rigid against his, heart thumping behind my ribs, blood rushing in the space between my ears.
“It’s okay,” he says again, wiping his thumbs across my cheeks because tears are falling freely.I hadn’t even realized I was crying.His hand is soft and warm against my skin, and the touch makes me aware that I’m not just crying.I’m shaking.
“John, you—”
My brain finally catches up with my body.
“You did this for me,” I manage to choke out, scared stiff against the wall.His steel-blue gaze holds my own, eyes crinkled in that entreating stare.He wants to kiss me.I can tell by the way his thumb strokes down my cheek, how his gaze drops to my trembling lips, and I know, to the very core of my being, I donotwant him to.
“No, Jamie,” he says before he captures my lips in a soft, extended sweep that turns into a firmer press.
For the record, nonconsensually kissing a scared, crying woman while doused in corn syrup you used to fake your own death?
Big red flag.
He pulls back, a whisper away from my mouth, and I hope he thinks I’m shaking from unbridled passion rather than the real reason: I’m scared shitless.
Because Billie was right.Itisalways the quiet ones.
His eyes open, crooked smile looking a lot less appealing than it did earlier tonight when he says, “I didn’t do it for you.I did it forus.”
“John,” I say, but he’s already shaking his head with a moony, lovestruck “look how far we’ve come” expression on his face.The grip he has on my cheek drops, and I try not to sigh too audibly when he’s not touching me anymore.
“Do you believe in fate, Jamie?”he muses, looking at me from under his bangs before he threads his hands through them and stands back to take a good look at me.His eyes trace over me like we’ve met by chance on the top of the Empire State Building or on the Manhattan Bridge or in the middle of Riverside Park.Not in a deep, dark corner of a trap he set.
I don’t know how to answer that.I don’t know how to make sense of any of this, so I ask, “Have we—”
He moves forward slightly, eyes alight with that unnerving affection as he waits for me to finish the question.
“Have wemetbefore tonight?”
I consider myself to be a person who is pretty aware of their surroundings, and since Johndoesfit the look of my usual type—which is very much no longer the case—you’d think I would’ve noticed him if our paths had crossed before, right?
“In another life, maybe.”
Holy shit, man.
“But youcalledto me, Jamie.Tonight.As soon as you walked in and I spotted you from the mezzanine, I just… Iknew.”
I think back to when I entered the club with Laurie.Ididsee a silhouette leaning against the railing.But it didn’t cross my mind again for the rest of the night.It didn’t have much of an impact on me, but for him… for him it waseverything.
“And then when we had our date, I knew we were perfectly matched.We just… aligned.”He lets out a chuckle.“You don’t scare easily.”
