Page 27 of Anton

The truth is, sometimes I am scared. Scared of what I lived through and what could happen again. It’s not something I can just stop thinking about, no matter how badly I want to. Maybe time will make it easier. For now, I’ve learned to live with it.

That’s what makes Anton so confusing. Of all the men I’ve been around since, he’s the only one who makes me feel okay. Safe, even, though I can’t explain why.

Maybe it’s nothing more than the attraction talking. I have no fucking idea anymore.

“I promise I’m okay. Stop worrying so much or you’ll get wrinkles.”

“God, you’re awful.”

She grins, and I return it as I pull my handbag higher over my shoulder. “All right, I’ve gotta run before I’m late for the first song and Blair chews my head off.”

Greer studies me. “Have fun tonight.”

“I will.”

Turning away, I step outside before she can say anything else, because honestly, fun is exactly what the doctor ordered.

The place is already packed when I get to the bar. People spill out onto the sidewalk, laughter and music bleeding through the doors as I make my way inside.

The smell of liquor hits me the second I step in, the air thick with it. It takes me a minute to spot Blair leaning against the bar with a drink in hand, her blonde hair falling down her back as she laughs at something the bartender says. When her eyes catch mine, her whole face lights up.

“There you are!” she calls, pushing off the bar as I make my way over. “I was starting to think you bailed on me.”

“Not a chance.” I pull her in for a quick hug. “You’d never let me live it down.”

“You’re damn right, I wouldn’t.” She gives me a slow once-over, her lips curving. “Also, rude of you to show up looking this hot without warning me first.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth. “Speak for yourself.”

My gaze drifts down to her black leather skirt and red crop top.

“I know, right? Isn’t this skirt the cutest?”

“I wonder why you decided to wear it today.” I give her a knowing look, and she waves it off.

“It’s not for him.”

We both know that’s a lie. She’s had a thing for the lead singer of her favorite local band for months.

She takes another sip of her drink, clearly avoiding the topic, and I let it go. For now.

“What are you drinking?” she asks. “It’s on me.”

“A mojito is good.”

She orders me one, and when the bartender brings it over, I wrap my fingers around the ice-cold glass and take a sip as the lights dim.

“Perfect timing.” Blair flicks her chin toward the stage.

The opening act begins, the first notes rising above the cheers of the crowd, and for a while, the music pulls me out of my thoughts until everything else fades.

Then a strange sensation skates over the back of my neck. I can’t explain it, but my stomach knots and my body goes rigid with the sudden certainty that someone in the crowd is watching me.

My grip cinches around my drink as I glance around, my gaze drifting over the bar. But I don’t see anyone suspicious. No reason for the unease curling through me to be there at all.

Still, it refuses to leave.

Blair doesn’t notice, still dancing and singing her heart out. I try to force my attention back to the band, telling myself I’m being ridiculous, but every time I start to relax, I catch myself looking over my shoulder again.