I might feel better after hanging out with West, but I’m not in the mood to deal with people right now.
Unease prickles at my consciousness as the feeling of being watched intensifies, and I inadvertently glance around as a tremor of fear ripples through me.
This feels different. It’s not the vague sense of being watched from a distance; it’s heavier and more focused.
Like at the AV party.
Crack.
A soft sound, like a twig or small branch breaking, cuts through the night, and I whip my head to the left.
My heart jumps into my throat when I see a shadowy figure leaning against the side of the building beside me.
They’re not doing anything suspicious, but I canfeelthem looking at me, even if I can’t see their face under the hood they have pulled up over their head.
A soft sound to my right, like a rock skittering over the pavement, pulls my attention from the figure, and I quickly look around, trying to suss out the source of the sound.
When I don’t see anyone, I look back at the building, and a jolt of fear hits me right in the chest.
He’s gone.
Another sound, like a pebble or a marble bouncing off concrete, rings out behind me, and I nearly stumble as cold fear washes over me in a wave.
Tossing a look over my shoulder, I almost trip over my feet when I see that same black-clad figure with a hood pulled up over his head on the path a dozen paces behind me.
He’s walking at a normal pace, but it’s not his speed that’s so damn terrifying, it’showhe’s moving. Each step is long and sure, and the set of his wide shoulders is somehow both tense and casual.
Everything about him screams predator, but there’s a flicker of something under my fear that isn’t exactly unexpected but is definitely unwanted.
Heat curls in my belly, mixing with the fear and creating something exhilarating and intoxicating as I tear my gaze from the figure and quicken my steps until I’m almost jogging down the path.
Crash.
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of glass breaking somewhere in front of me, and I instinctively look around, almost tripping as I skid to a stop.
There’s no one around. Even the figure is gone.
Fear pours into my system, and my chest tightens to the point it’s hard to pull in a breath, but I can’t ignore the tendrilsof arousal that snake through my fear, and it’s then I realize that I’m half-hard.
What the actual fuck?
Is this actually turning me on?
A strange sense of awareness settles over me, and I slowly look over my shoulder.
The figure is back, and he’s less than six feet from me.
Something tugs at my senses, and instead of running away like a smart person, I look closer at the figure.
I recognize the set of those shoulders, and more of that exhilarating fear/arousal mix fills me.
That’s Xave.
I have no idea how I know it since I can’t see his face at all, but it’s like it was at the party. I canfeelthat it’s him.
We stand there for a few beats, just staring at each other.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on or why Xave is playing these weird games with me, but I don’t hate it.
