Page 52 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

His eyes flash gold.

And I bolt.

Up the stairs, through my apartment door, heart pounding and face burning and body aching with want I don’t know what to do with.

I don’t close the door behind me.

11

— • —

Fable

I didn’t close the door.

The realization hits me approximately three seconds after I burst into my apartment, when I turn around and see the doorway standing wide open behind me, a rectangle of stairwell light spilling into my dim living room, an invitation I didn’t consciously issue but can’t bring myself to revoke.

You left the door open. You ran away from him and you LEFT THE DOOR OPEN.

This is either the most significant gesture I’ve ever made or the most catastrophic lapse in judgment. Given that my brain is currently operating at approximately fifteen percent capacity, the rest of it occupied by the image of his bare chest and the memory of his voice saying I can smell it, I genuinely cannot tell which.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Slow. Deliberate. Each one measured, giving me time to close the door if I want to.

I don’t close the door.

Orion appears in the doorway, and my breath catches in my throat. He’s still naked, of course he’s still naked, it’s not like he had time to stop for pants between exploding through my door and chasing off a would-be predator, and his eyes are still that impossible gold, and he’s looking at me like I’m something precious and edible and his.

“You left the door open,” he says.

“I noticed that.”

“Was it intentional?”

“I don’t know.” The honesty slips out before I can stop it. “I panicked. I ran. And then I didn’t close the door.”

“You could close it now.”

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t be offended.”

“I know that too.”

He steps inside. Doesn’t close the door behind him, leaving me an escape route, I realize. Giving me the choice he keeps insisting on giving me.

“I’m not going to apologize,” I blurt out, “for having a body that does things when you’re around. It’s not my fault you have…” I wave my hand vaguely at all of him. “That. The muscles and the jaw and the eyes and the smelling. It’s not fair to expect me to be unaffected.”

“I don’t expect you to be unaffected.” He takes another step closer. “I’m not unaffected either.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because you’re…” I struggle for words. “You’re ancient. You’re experienced. You’ve probably been with more people than I can imagine…”

“I haven’t.”

That stops me. “What?”