Okay, focus. Where was I? I chewed on my bottom lip again.
My brows furrowed and I quickly turned back to the bartender. “Have you seen him before?”
He shook his head, drying his glass once again. It had to be some sort of instinctive trait bred into people destined to be bartenders, I was sure of it. “Never.” Or maybe a nervous tick. He was, after all, the bartender of some creepy, hole in the wall bar that only a certain type seemed to attend.
I leaned over the counter and folded my arms around my drink, feeling my muscles stiffen and my breath pick up as I heard his near silent footsteps close in—
“What are you writing?”
The feeling of being interrupted when in the middle of a scene could be compared to walking into traffic only for someone to rip you back to the sidewalk. That sudden, painful jerk back to reality.
I lifted my eyes, making sure he could see how much hatred I felt for him in that moment. Maybe not hatred, that was a strong word to use against someone I didn’t know, butseverefrustration at the very least. I opened my mouth to respond but thought better of it and turned back to my writing. I swallowed the anger. If he could ignore me, I could ignore him. Steven was busy today, so it was my best opportunity to get some real writing done before he came back, and I’ll be damned if one of his ‘club friends’ ruined it for me.
…close in on the bar. There were a dozen other free seats in this place, he didn’t have to sit anywhere near me.
He took the spot right next to mine despite that. “Scotch on the rocks.”
I angled myself away from him, those warning bells in my head scre—
“Here’s your refill.”
I looked up, watching as that blonde barista poured black coffee into his now open cup. He was either a fast drinker or I was a terribly slow writer. I’d rather admit to the former.
His eyes remained locked on mine, and I almost felt bad for the woman. She was doing her best to let him know that she was interested, and he couldn’t have cared less.
This was ridiculous. I wasn’t going to get anything done here. It was nice enough outside, maybe I could just go to the park for a while.
I made sure I saved my document while the woman tried getting his number, gathered my things, and headed for the door.
If I could just have a couple of uninterrupted hours, I knewthat I could get my publisher a half decent chapter that would hold her over long enough to get her something better.
I jogged across the street and headed for the park I ran through with Lucy every morning just a couple of blocks away. It was filled with trees and had a beautiful bridge overlooking a river. I loved it because there were secret picnic benches hidden within alcoves people couldn’t find unless they followed the trail all the way around. More often than not, they were empty.
I adjusted my bag and headed down one of the trails, hoping at least one of them was empty.
The first two were not, but the third—the one that sat in a canopy of willows, surrounded by wild roses with a stream running through it—that one was.
I set up my things on the stone bench covered in patches of green moss, the air cool enough to send shivers down my legs—and I set up my laptop once again.
I fell into a rhythm after a few minutes. The words began to flow, the ideas blooming as my fingers flew across the keys. A serial killer, a girl down on her luck, and some enemies they made along the way.
Maybe it was a little predictable at first, but this was only the rough draft—
A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, ripping me from my writing only for a gasp to tear from my lips when I met the stranger’s eyes again.
The man was watching me from across the table. His eyes were cold and unforgiving as my heart slammed against my ribs in panic. What the Hell was happening?
Had he followed me here?Why? I tore my headphones off, sliding them around my neck. “What are you doing here?” I asked, the fear dripping down my spine. I glanced behind me towards the entrance, straining my hearing, but there was nothing. This place was too secluded, and it was stupid of meto come here of all places after he had showed up in that café.Stupid! What had I been thinking?
I hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. I hadn’t thought about it at all.
He angled his head when I turned back to face him. “You start twitching when you get into your writing,” he noted. “Your whole body. Like a dog kicking in its sleep.”
I was too terrified to glare, to feel anger, to do anything but sit there and sputter like an idiot.
When I didn’t do anythingbutsputter, his eyes narrowed behind that mask of his. “I suppose you’d have to be stupid to be living the life you are.” A pause. “Hmm.”
My eyes widened. Was he…was hefollowing me? No, no, that was crazy. That was a preposterous idea. It had to be.
