I know little to nothing about watches, but I know those are cheaper than most, and something about it makes my core heat which is absolutely fucking ridiculous but it doesn’t change the fact I’msweatingin this car.
Not to mention the red leather seats, the red thread on the black steering wheel, the fact the inside of his car is immaculate and smells like leather but not one of those nasty car tree air fresheners.
He drives slowly, in control, not trying to show off or gun it at the stoplights along campus. And, best of all, I actually have to tell him where my apartment is. Or rather, I said go to Midnight Blackwell’s Book Emporium, and his brows jumped, but he knew the way.
A man knowing the location of a used bookstore?
Also hot.
I don’t know what kind of bullshit Sylvan fed to him, but I’m fairly certain either Faust Darling is clueless about his psychopathic teammate’s antics,orhe’s a God-like liar. But if I had to guess, it’s the former, which sends a slight chill down my spine despite the heat in my body.
If Sylvan Connor hides his crazy that well, he really just might be a psychopath.
Faust pulls into one of the parking spots in front of the bookstore, and I glance up at the old, black stone building jutting up into the night, spearing toward the full moon.
The car is idling, and I realize he’s looking at me as his hand comes to the back of my seat, but he doesn’t touch me.
Immediately, I press the button on my seatbelt to release it, but before I can stumble through an awkward thanks and a goodbye, his words cut me off.
“Do you feel safe here?” He glances at the windshield. The black and white ‘Closed’ sign is flipped over the bookstore, all the windows tinted, a skull doorknocker on the heavy front door.
This late at night, I wait until no one else is on the sidewalk before I open the door and head upstairs, but the streets are desolate here. A block down, it’s a different story, but with a coffee shop on one side of Blackwell’s and a goth shoe store on the other, no one is here.
I pull my sweater to my chest, conscious of my phone in my coat pocket. I checked it on the way here and Cynthia sent me a text to let me know she was still out with Tas.
Part of me wants to meet up with them.
I mean, someone just got killed at Drayton.
Someone I had a tenuous connection to.
And I’ll be alone here.
That wouldn’t bother me literally any other night. The crime rate here is (usually) low. It’s never occurred to me to feel scared of being by myself. In fact, I enjoy it. It’s a moment to breathe, when all the thoughts inside my head are already loud enough. How much I ate, whether I went to the gym or not—not today, thanks—if I’ll get into the only Jungian certificate program in the province when I apply next year. How long I can avoid responding to Nolan’s texts before he simply shows up at my door.
Solitude lets me think through everything in peace.
Now, though, I hate to admit I’m nervous.
“You don’t,” Faust says before I can answer his question. “Feel safe.” He drags his eyes to mine. “Do you?”
“How is the investigation going?” I blurt out instead of confirming his assessment. “You must be responsible for the fact none of us have been mentioned. I mean, even his death was barely a line in the paper.” I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear and note Faust’s dark eyes tracking the movement.
Then I squeeze both fists into the sweater again.
Faust takes a breath, his muscular chest rising and falling. He’s so big in here, it’s easy to see he’s a high-performance athlete.
He could lay me out across his seats with one arm.
That doesn’t help the warmth in my belly.
At all.
Neither does his side profile as he turns to look ahead, those full lips pushed together, his nose wide and gorgeous, his jawline clean shaven and defined.
Then those chains around his throat…
Get it together, Neve.
