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My head almost explodes. “Noted? Like it might happen again?”
“It might.”
“Okay.”
“All right.”
I’m trying to keep myself from smiling too big and spooking him, but I can’t believe any of this is happening. Half of me is convinced that I’m dreaming, and the other half is convinced Antonio found us and offed me in my sleep.
I hurry to take a shower and get dressed, and then I grab Lynx’s machete and strap it to me. I don’t miss the way his eyes follow it, the hazel flashing gold for a second, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to offer it back to him.
Something holds me back though.
It’s not that I think Lynx is only keeping me close to get his knife back, but how much value will I have to him if I don’t hold his most prized possession? It’s sick of me to even want to keep his interest that way, but there’s no going back now. I’m becoming addicted to him.
From the low scratch to his voice, to his worn, capable hands, to the guarded depth behind his eyes and the way he’s always so alert, I want to know more. I’m getting there. I know I am. Piece by piece, I’m breaking Lynx down and putting together what I know about him again, and I won’t stop until I have all the answers. It’s a frustratingly slow process, but at least I have time.
And another one of his hoodies.
I breathe in his smell before joining him, and it’s like my entire body relaxes. I don’t know how he has that effect on me when everything about the guy on paper gives serial killer vibes, but I’m glad he lets me see beyond the surface. Even if it’s only a brief glimpse, I know there’s more to him, and it makes me feel safe in a way I never have before.
We start our day in the crop field, and Lynx points out to me the different paths leading from it and talks me through where they lead. We’ll take a new path each day so I can follow it and get used to the feel of the forest.
He actually talks, none of that cagey aggression I’m so used to seeing from him, and because he’s taking this seriously, I do as well. No flirting or using the opportunity to turn him on. I listen, make notes for myself, and just appreciate the sound of his voice washing over me.
“We’ll take this path today,” he says, nodding to one up ahead. “This one will take you to the Cutty, and if you keep following it, Wilde’s place.”
“How far away are they?”
“Depends how fast you walk.” It’s one of his no-bullshit answers, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes I’ve never seen before.
“Lynx … are you making a joke?”
“Never. That’s a pointless thing to do.”
“Fun isn’t pointless.”
“Fun doesn’t achieve anything, so therefore, it’s pointless.”
“Actually, fun raises your serotonin levels, which are apparently really good for you. Maybe your lack of fun is the reason you’re always so scowly.”
His eyebrows lift in disbelief. “Scowly?”
“Are you trying to say you’re not?”
His lips pinch, and I assume this is one of those times where we’ve strayed toward an area of conversation that he doesn’t like. “I don’t … mean to be.”
It’s a real answer. I almost ask him to repeat it. “Who are you, and what have you done with Lynx?”
“What do you mean?”
“You actually gave me an answer. We’re having a conversation. This is weird.” I grab his arm before he can get offended and storm away, then wait for him to look at me. Those hazel eyes make me giddy. “I like it.”
“You called me weird.”
“And scowly. I still like it though.”
He cards his fingers through his hair and, after swallowing roughly, says, “I like it too.”
