Because yes, fine, he was right. Ataaaadbit. About the whole no-orgasms-until-sustenance thing.
I need food to replenish all the excessive energy I’ve been burning.
“My God, my mouth is actually watering. I need that fried gyoza, or I’m going todie.” I groan when a waft fills my nose, triggering an immediate growl from my stomach.
“Can’t have you dying on me, ba?—”
The words die on his tongue as he suddenly stops beside me so quickly that I stumble backward a step because of his hold on my hand. The sound of the paper takeout bag in his hand hitting the concrete shakes me to my core.
He’s gone completely rigid, every muscle in his body tense and coiled tight, frozen completely in place, his face nearly ashen.
Like the day at Crescent House.
And I don’t understand what’s happening, what’s caused this sudden reaction out of him.
“Wilder?”
Suddenly, he snaps out of it, like hearing me call his name is what brought him back, and he tugs hard on my hand, his nostrils flaring, the expression on his face morphing.
“Maisie. Get behind me.”
Now, I’m afraid. I’ve been too focused on him to even notice the woman who’s standing just ahead of us between two vehicles in the direction that he’s staring. She’s what’s caused him to react this way.
I’m confused an?—
“Maisie!” he yells, causing me to jump, to flinch away from the sound, and he realizes that, his fingers tightening around my hand but his voice lowering, softer now. “Baby, please. I need you to listen to me.”
I don’t argue.
Not when I feel the unease rolling off him and the frantic tone of his voice.
I have no idea who she is, but clearly, he’s worried about me enough to place himself in front of me, like I need protecting from her.
Stepping over the bag, I do as he says, moving behind him. I wrap my hand around his forearm and hold on because I’m scared, but I don’t know what I should be doing.
I mean, should I call the police?
Is this a crazy fan? Some hockey-obsessed woman who’s somehow found out where he lives?
“Wilder…” the woman says as she cautiously approaches closer, and I just have this feeling, this ominous gnawing in my gut that I can’t place, that I can’t seem to put my finger on.
He reaches for me, grabbing my hand so tightly that it almost hurts, moving over slightly until he’s completely in front of me. I have to peek around his bicep to even see her.
Her hair is long and unkempt, the greasy, stringy pieces falling in her eyes. Eyes that are glassy and dull. Lifeless even.
And she can’t seem to stand still. She bounces on the balls of her feet, her eyes darting from Wilder, around the parking lot, to me, but never in the same place for long. When she reaches up to fiddle with the collar of her shirt, I can’t help but notice how dirty her clothes are, stained and streaked with dirt.
“Get the fuck away from me.” Wilder says each word slowly, with an eerie calmness that doesn’t match the venom behind them or the tension in his body.
It makes my stomach dip, and instinctively, I reach for my phone, which is in my pocket.
Something’s not right.
No, something is really, really,reallywrong.
I’veneverseen Wilder this way, and I’m afraid to the point that my hands are shaking as I hold on to him.
The woman laughs, the sound devoid of any humor at all. “Baby, that’s no way to talk to your mama.”
