“Oh for pete's sake,” She slammed her cup back down on the table, deciding to take pity on me. “I got my period, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Call me stupid, but I was still missing the issue. From my limited understanding, periods started at a young age and were a monthly occurrence. “And?”
“It’s just earlier than expected, so I had some awkward explaining to do when Heather came to change my sheets this morning.”
“That’s it?”
“Is that not enough?” She sassed while balling up her sandwich wrapper.
“I was concerned, that’s all.”
“Well, thank you for your concern, but there’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Okay. Are you ready to go?” I wait for her to nod before standing and walking our rubbish over to the bin.
“Where to next?” I plastered a grin across my face as I let her take the lead. We continued walking, circling back around. Ana paused outside of a store window inspecting the well-dressed mannequins.
“Shit,” I mumbled as I noticed a guy that strikingly resembled the driver of the SUV. I couldn’t have been sure…and then his jacket wavered, flashing me a glimpse of his hidden holster.
Fuck. How could he have possibly found us?
“Ana, shh.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the store we had stopped outside of. I rushed through to the back, dragging Anastasia behind me. I was trying to think.
“What the hell is your problem? One minute you’re nice to me and the next you’re telling me to shut up. What the actual fuck is that about?”
“We’ll discuss this when we get home.” I tried to convey the urgency through my tone but I had an idea from the look on her face that she wasn’t having any of that. She went to storm off but I grabbed her arm and pulled her back to me. I had a very good feeling I wasn’t off the hook, but she could do all the yelling at me she wanted as soon as she was safe.
“And I didn’t say ‘shut up’, now did I? You really think I’d need to use that unjust language to get you to do what I want.”
“No, you would just threaten me, or someone I love instead.”
“Watch it,” I whispered, narrowing my eyes at her.
“What the hell are we doing? I thought we were going home?”
“We’re being followed.” Finally, something that shut her up. I supposed if I’d had led with that, she might’ve been more inclined to follow my lead into the fitting rooms. I shoved her into a cubical and followed suit before pulling the curtain.
Every minute felt like a hundred. Being pressed up against her in the small cubicle had me suddenly thinking of my grandmother, of Zedd being pantsed at the beach as a kid, of the first day I got Achilles. Anything to stop the rush of blood that was heading south. She was doing things to me and while the train may be slowing down, he wasn’t stopping. Her body was too powerful. She was a siren without knowing it.
Or maybe she did know it. Tilting my head, I noticed she wouldn’t meet my eyes, her gaze kept looking straight at my chest.
Was she scared?
Was she pissed?
Was she as turned on as I was?
I had no answers and I hated that. I hated not knowing what she was thinking. Over the weeks I’d noticed that Anastasia’s face often gave her away. When she was looking at me there was nowhere for her to hide, she was an open book. I thought it was the sweetest thing. I didn’t know if she even knew how expressive she was from the outside, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. I couldn’t risk the book closing.
My arms that carefully caged her in, dropped from the wall - leaving it to hold itself up. I lifted my hand to her chin, giving it a soft nudge. Her eyes met mine and my heart sank. I couldn’t read her at all. Behind those big blue eyes, there was nothing. That, right there, was an instant boner killer.
“Does this happen often?”
“Getting followed? Not often, but it happens…” When you’re the muscle for the King family. I didn’t want to finish that sentence but I didn’t think I needed to. Without knowing, she knew.
“No. I mean do you often press yourself up against vulnerable women?” She remained to keep a straight face. In any other situation, I might’ve found that funny but with my hand enclosed around her forearm, I felt it. Her pulse had spiked.
She wasn’t asking to make light of the situation. She was asking because she genuinely wanted to know if she was the one, or just one of my many. It was a valid question, something we hadn’t discussed - I hadn’t deemed us ready for any conversations that could be construed as breaching the relationship border. Could it have been possible that I misjudged the situation?
