“So are you a Titans or Packers fan?”
I can’t help but laugh. We talk about football and our predictions for when the season starts in a few months, then we move on to discussing other things. Bastion tells me a story about him and his sister attending a party in high school.
The story makes me curious how old he is, but again, I don’t ask.
Before I’m ready, he collects our empty mugs to return to the counter, saying that he’d better be going. Something like panic grips my chest. It’s been so nice spending time with him, talking and connecting over regular things, and the idea of not getting to do it again feels crippling.
“Will you be back in town next week?” I ask, standing as well. I try to keep my voice casual, but I’m pretty sure I don’t succeed.
His smile makes his deep blue eyes sparkle with satisfaction. “I will.”
Oh no, he’s going to make me ask, isn’t he? My face heats, and though I feel awkward as heck, I know I’ll regret it if I let him leave here without asking.
“Would you like to meet up next week?” I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.
Holding both mugs in one hand, he steps forward and squeezes my elbow. “I’d really like that, Hattie. I’ll see you then.”
And with that, he heads over to the counter, leaving the empty mugs with the girl who works here, and walks out the door. Again, without a backward glance.
The spot where his skin briefly touched mine is still warm as I make my own exit a couple of minutes later.
8
BASTION
The following week, I don’t arrive in Wisconsin until Monday night, just to prove to myself I have the self-discipline. I spoke to my lawyer, and things are moving along nicely with my plan. All that needs to happen is for me to bait the line and watch Hattie bite down on it.
I’m meeting her tonight, and today I plan to make another sweep of her apartment to see if anything I missed the first time can lend some more insight into her now that I know a little more about her.
I watch her leave her building, punctual as usual. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she has on a sheath dress in a floral pattern that looks as if it’s at least a size too big for her.
As I did last time, I wait twenty minutes to make sure she isn’t going to return, then I pull the baseball cap over my head and grab the clipboard from the passenger seat. I’m back in her apartment in under three minutes. Seriously, the rush is addicting. I can’t do this many more times.
It looks much the same as it did the last time I was here. Everything is in its place, though there are different books on the coffee table. She must be an avid reader. Then again, she does nothing else.
A quick tour of the bedroom and the bathroom reveal nothing new, and I end my tour in the kitchen. I’ve just pushed the junk drawer closed when I hear a key in the lock.
Fuck.
A quick glance around tells me there’s nowhere to hide, and trying to slip out of the sliding glass door in the living room will only announce my presence to who I assume is Hattie.
Goddammit, this whole thing is going to be over before it even starts. Why the hell did I insist on coming here again?
The door closes softly behind Hattie, and I hold my breath, praying that she just forgot something, grabs it, and goes. And that whatever it is, it isn’t in the kitchen.
Heavy steps make their way from the door into the living room.
My stomach lodges in my throat. She’s going to catch me, and there’s not an excuse in the world she’s going to buy for what the fuck I’m doing in her apartment.
“Still reading your smut.” The deep chuckle of a man rings through the silent apartment.
My forehead creases. Did she lie to me when she said she didn’t have a boyfriend?
Footsteps sound again, making their way away from the kitchen and down the hall. I slowly creep out of the kitchen without making a sound until I’m in the living room, where I standlooking between the escape of the sliding glass door and the entry to the hallway.
I should get the hell out of here before I’m caught. But I want to know who the fuck this guy is and what he’s doing here. Why does he have a key to Hattie’s apartment? I’ll dig into my curiosity later.
Slowly enough not to make a sound, I head toward the hallway entrance, pausing when I hear something. It takes me a minute to figure out what it is—the sound of Hattie’s dresser drawers opening and closing. Somehow, I think this guy has a different agenda than I do for being here.
