Page 30 of Dead Pretty

“Well, you thought something. Enough to sit in a coffee shop with your laptop to avoid seeing me. And … I, uh … feel bad.”

A smile appears in his eyes, and it warms my chest.

“You feel bad because I’m sitting in a nice, warm coffee shop?”

“No. Yes. No.” I press my fingertips to my forehead, trying to gather my suddenly scattered thoughts. This guy has a way of making me feel flustered and confused at the drop of a hat. It’s disconcerting. “I feel bad because you feel like you can’t come to the library because I’m there. Because of what happened … you know … at the supermarket.”

He sighs and sits forward, pushing down the lid of his laptop, resting his hands on top of it. “Look, Audrey, truth is, I wasn’t avoiding you. I was just trying to give you a little space. I didn’t want you feeling uncomfortable at your place of work because of me.”

“You wouldn’t have made me feel uncomfortable.”

He gives me a knowing look, telling me he’s aware that he makes me feel uncomfortable.

He does but not for the reasons he thinks.

It’s because I’m attracted to him … well, attraction is maybe too tame a word for what I feel when I’m around this guy.

“Okay,” I concede. “I would have felt a tad uncomfortable for about thirty seconds, and then I would have been fine.”

He laughs a low sound, and I feel it in my chest and between my legs. The urge to press my thighs together is real.

“Are you staying?” he asks me.

“I haven’t decided,” I answer truthfully.

“I was just going to get another coffee. Why don’t you let me buy you one—in a takeout cup? And then you can decide to stay or not …” He lets his words hang.

I hesitate.

Jesus, it’s just coffee. That I can take with me if I want to.

It’s not like I’m making besties with the guy.

“Okay.” I find myself nodding my agreement. “But I was also going to grab a cinnamon-and-raisin bagel.”

Smiling, he stands. “I’ll get that in a takeout bag as well.”

He walks past me, his arm brushing mine ever so slightly. The scent of him invades and assaults my senses. I feel somewhat dazed and wobbly. Like a new foal trying to find its legs.

Maybe that’s why I hear myself saying, “Jack?”

He turns back. “Yeah?”

“I, uh … I don’t need a takeout cup or bag.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. A dimple appearing in his cheek that I didn’t notice before. “Okay.”

I take a seat on the chair I was holding on to, making sure not to look at Jack across the coffee shop.

He returns five minutes later with our coffees and my bagel.

“Thanks,” I say to him when he puts my food and drink in front of me. “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on me.”

“You sure?” I check.

“I’m sure. I still owe you for looking out for Eleven.”