The evening keeps replaying in my head, something restless moving through me with it.
I can’t get those eyes out of my head.
From far away they looked almost black. But when I got closer, I realized they were green. The most unique dark green I’ve ever seen.
Forest-before-a-storm green.
I lie there longer than I should, letting the memory sit there, heavy and quiet, before I finally force myself up. My feet ache from the long shift. Setting everything up was the worst part. Thank God I didn’t have to stay until the end to pack everything away.
I stumble into the bathroom, peel off my clothes, and step under the shower. The hot water hits my skin, loosening the tension in my muscles almost instantly. I tilt my head back, letting it run over my face, and start counting in my head.
I’m getting close to the amount I need for a car that actually works. Close to being able to drive to the city whenever I want.
My eyes fall shut as the water runs down my cheeks, and I see him again—standing by that table.
Tall. Unreadable. Deceptively calm.
A sudden wave of embarrassment uncomfortably runs through me.
Why did I introduce myself like that?
I drop my face into my hands, water dripping down my arms.
He didn’t even ask for my name. I just blurted it out. That was so random. He didn’t seem interested.
But he was staring at me all the time, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to interpret this night. I drag my hands down my face slowly, trying to make sense of it.
That burning, predatory stare still lingers on me, dragging heat through my body all over again, as if my skin couldn’t get rid of his presence.
There was something dark about him. Something that kept pulling my attention back to him, no matter how hard I tried to focus on anything else.
I can ask Nat about him tomorrow. It’ll be embarrassing, but whatever. He doesn’t go to my school. If it turns out he’s not interested, I can just pretend this never happened.
Worst case, I stop taking catering shifts.
And move cities.
Or countries.
Back in my room, I pull on a tank top and shorts and drop onto the bed again, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers.
It doesn’t. Only the feeling stays. As if my body recognized something before I did.
The way he was staring at me? I couldn’t decide if it made me nervous or something worse. If I should be stepping back or leaning closer. All I know is that it made the back of my neck shiver.
My gaze drifts toward my hands, my fingers curling into the blanket.
However hard I tried, my eyes couldn’t help being attracted by his hands. Something obviously happened to him. But I’ve never seen such a strange kind of imperfection.
Lines of damaged skin stretching from his wrists all the way to his fingertips, uneven and tight in places.
It was so hauntingly beautiful.
It feels wrong to even think that. It made me want to know what happened to him.
Was he born like that?
Was he in an accident?
