"You should," I agree.
Neither of us move.
And in this moment, I know I have her. That whatever this is, whatever we've recognized in each other, she isn't going to run from it. To my excitement, she is going to run toward it.
Just like I am.
CHAPTER FIVE
ROXY
The Next Morning - Diner
The diner appears like a mirage in the early morning light. It’s one of those chrome-sided relics from the fifties, all red vinyl and cracked Formica, sitting alone on a stretch of highway that seems to never end. I've been driving since dawn, trying to put distance between myself and the rest stop where I'd left him standing in the dark. I’m trying so fucking hard not to think about the way he'd looked at me.
The parking lot is nearly empty. Just a semi-truck at the far end and a black car near the entrance. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I know that car. I really should turn around and get out of here as it’s never good to attract a stalker, especially a hot one that intrigues you in ways that could land you in a whole lot of trouble. But my stomach is empty, growling, begging for nourishment, not to mention my hands are shaking from too much coffee and not enough sleep. Plus, I wanna see if it’s really him and to see what he does. For my own ego and sanity I need to see if he has really followed me here, or should I say, worked out my route and waited for me here.
I get out of the van with my bag and pull my hair up into a messy bun as I walk over to the entrance. The bell above the doorchimes as I walk in, and the place smells like burnt coffee and bacon grease. A waitress with tired eyes glances up from behind the counter with a look of wanting to be anywhere else, then goes back to refilling sugar dispensers. Two truckers sit at the far end, hunched over their plates. And in a booth by the window, backlit by the rising sun, is him. Dom.
He doesn’t look up as I enter, just keeps his eyes on the coffee cup in front of him, but I can see the slight tension in his shoulders. The awareness that he knows I’m here.
Instead of turning to run like any other sane person, I do the opposite and I slide into the booth directly across from his, where we are separated by the narrow aisle.
The waitress appears out of nowhere with a pot of coffee.
"What can I get you, hon?"
"Just coffee and toast,” I say, not taking my eyes off him.
"You got it."
She finishes pouring my coffee and disappears. The silence stretches between us, thick and electric. I can feel his presence like a physical weight, even though he isn’t looking at me, I know he is watching me. Giving in, I break the silence.
"You're following me again."
He takes a slow sip of his coffee, and sets the cup down carefully. When he finally looks at me, those dark eyes are completely calm and unapologetic.
"Yes."
Just a one word answer. No explanation or excuse.
"Why?"
"You know why."
I did. God help me, I did. But I needed to hear him say it.
"Tell me anyway."
He leans back in the booth, studying me with an intensity that should have been frightening to the point I call for help.Instead, it makes something hot and dangerous coil low in my stomach.
"Because you're the first real thing I've seen in years," he said quietly. "And when you looked at me, you didn't see a threat. You saw someone who understood you."
"You know nothing about me," I say, aware of my breath catching as I try to remain calm.
"Don't I?"
The waitress returns with my toast, but it doesn’t break our connection.
