Of course she has, dumbass. She’s not afraid to be seen with you. Hero blindness, remember? She’s always going to see you as something better than you are. Look at her, studying you like you hung the damn stars and can move the fucking mountains. It won’t last, soon she’ll see the real you. Bug out. Now. Don’t come back. She’ll wreck you.
There it all is. The typical insults, the fear, the intrusion, but it cuts itself off, and my head is silent. It wasn’t even that bad. If that’s the worst my brain could fire at me, I’d be doing great.
Her touch scrambles my brain, and she hasn’t even reached my bare skin yet. Not just scrambles.Silences. It’s kind of nice.
“I’ll come to you,” I say stupidly. “I’ll text you.”
“You don’t have my number.”
“No,” I sigh. “But I doubt that will be a problem. You already found my address…”
Her nose scrunches up, bunching up the few freckles on the bridge of her nose. There are all of five and they’re sickeningly charming. I can’t stop looking at them.
“I’m sorry. That was… bad. I know it. I wrecked your privacy, disrespected you, went against your wishes, ignored you… all of it. I won’t do anything like that again.”
I make a noise of disbelief in my throat. It causes her lips to twitch. We both know that she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Just like I’d go back into that burning house and ruin my health for the sake of a feline.
Just like I’d let this woman with all her sweetness and all her perfection and her beautiful heart stop me from running away from the inevitable. My soul. Hers. She’s going to shatter me, wreck me, ruin me.
“Can I just give it to you?” she asks, unable to keep from breaking into a full grin. “My number?”
Do I really have a choice? Have I ever?
“Looks like motherfucking cookies it is,” I grumble.
Fawnie’s face lights up, going from happy to absolutely radiant again. Like I’ve just unmoored the world from its chains and set it at her feet.
I’ve never seen someone so happy to be around another person who is so absolutely dark and grumpy.
This is going to be bad. There’s nothing else that it can be.
Chapter 6
Fawnie
Ispent the last three days playing the ‘will he text me, or was he bullshittingme’game with myself. Constantly. It shouldn’t matter, it’s not like we’re planning a date or anything. It’s not like he sees me as anything other than an annoyance. But still… I can’t stop thinking about his eyes. And lips. I know he’d call it bullshit hero worship and say I was blinded by some sense of obligation or gratitude. But I felt it. I felt something between us.
I’ve tried distracting myself with reading, long walks, going for drives, and checking out the local thrift and antique shops. It’s all the stuff I love doing, but it hasn’t helped settle me one bit. I was invited over for dinner at Dad’s and Rita’s last night. I went, but I think they both could tell there was something bothering me. I couldn’t just straight up blurt out a confession about how badly I’d disobeyed and how I’d very nearly messed everything all up.
I don’t think the events were connected, but in the middle of dinner, my phone dinged. I checked the text under the table so I wouldn’t be rude. Thankfully, Justice was telling some wild story about how he wants to take up parkour, so no one was really paying attention to me.
I could disguise my huge smile about the most clinical text I’ve ever received because Dad was trying to laugh off everything Justice was saying in hopes that none of it was real, and Rita was laughing along, probably sending up every motherly hope thatever existed that her son pleasenotstart jumping off of things and getting into evenmoretrouble.
There was a date and a time from an unknown number. Unknown, but not blocked. That was all.
I immediately replied that it worked for me.
Annnnddddd I’ve had zero chill ever since.
I spent the day baking cookies. Every kind of cookie. I’ve made so many batches that I’ve lost track. I know it’s insane. Thankfully, I have a small freezer here, and I can take whatever doesn’t get eaten to the clubhouse.
The text said eleven. He was specific about it being at night and not morning. If it was anyone else, I’d tell them to come at a regular time. Maybe I’d joke about booty calls, but something about booty calls and Shadow makes my cheeks flush. I’m not worried about being alone with him, I trust him. But even if I didn’t, there’s usually someone in the tattoo shop until midnight.
I don’t know how someone can ride across town, park where I don’t hear their bike pull up, and walk so silently up two flights of metal stairs that their footsteps ghost on the treads, and knock on the door,exactlyat eleven.
I pull it open immediately. I’m not into hiding any of my emotions. I don’t have a good face for it. If Shadow realizes within ten seconds that I’ve been anticipating this so damn badly that I’ve reduced myself to a half pathetic ball of eager nerves, is that such a terrible thing?
I expect a leather clad, surly biker who has maybe left his helmet on, or stuffed a ballcap on low. A black hoodie under aleather jacket. Maybe just one or the other. Worn-in jeans, big biker boots—the whole lot.
