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My thoughts go blank. Laurel’s eyes pierce me with a warning to back off, but her fingers cling to mine. I may be making her angry. Or nervous. Both? Her gaze darts across my face and stops on my chin, probably on my scar. Her frown disappears, replaced by thoughtful biting of her lower lip. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking, whether she finds me irresistible, reckless and dangerous, or not worth her time.
“There! There!” Clamoring shouts pierce my eardrums as the fans emerge from the alley.
I grouch, “This sucks.” On so many levels. I would’ve loved to give them my whole evening if I could. It’d be good for the band, but this is bad for Laurel. The way I’m sure she sees it, this whole situation is yet more proof she should keep hiding. From me as well. Dang it.
“My car’s that way.” I point in the approximate direction of where I parked our ride.
Grimacing, Laurel shifts her footing, drops my hand, and squares her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
“Okay.” I pretend that I’m not mourning the loss of her touch, put on a silly expression, flash a V with my fingers for those of the chasers who brandish their phones for any snapshot they can get, then we take off again.
Track 9
Don’t Make Me Hug You
Laurel
Blackmore posed. He freaking posed. At least I was already turning to go, so no one should’ve gotten a good shot of me. In theory. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.
But for goodness’ sake. I agree to go to dinner with him, I choose to get out, and I get what for that? I thought the worst that could happen is I’d get thoroughly disenchanted and free up some brain space for things more important than thinking about him, but no. No, no, no. The outside world is out to get me.
“Let’s cross the road.” I head toward an intersection. The sandals rub my feet, and my lungs are on fire. I should pick up running. I relaxed, got too good at my avoidance technique to remember to hone my evasion skills.
Cars honk at us as we hit the crosswalk, right before the light turns green for the vehicles, and I run faster. On the other side of the street, I check behind us. Blackmore’s fans have gathered into an impatient cluster by the crossing light, but they know where we are. Their hunter eyes have never lost track of us.
“Over here.” Blackmore grabs my hand, again, and drags me into a tiny building full of knick-knacks and pungent scents—a thrift shop.
At the chime of the bell hanging by the door, the clerk looks up from the cash register. “Welcome to—”
“Apologies. Just passing through. Back door?” Blackmore shoots out, his hand dry and his breathing even, unlike mine.
The clerk’s eyes widen, but he slowly points to the back of the shop.
“Thanks.”
Blackmore motions for me to go ahead. I untangle my fingers from his grip, but the pressure lingers, not unpleasant, as I hurry down the short hallway that connects the main area with the back. Racks full of hangers displaying everything from silk scarves to faux fur winter coats line the walls. A teal cropped peacoat with white trim grabs my attention. It was popular two years ago, and I wanted one, but I never ordered it because I’d have nowhere to wear it. I still like it.
Blackmore brushes past me to open the door for me. I wave for him to go first, but my mind trips, and I end up attempting to get out at the same time with him. We slam into each other in the doorway. Blackmore chuckles, of course. My thoughts collapse for good as he slides away. My attention laser focuses on the sensation of his warm body next to mine. My own body moves with him as though dragged by some magnet.
Pressing a finger to his lips, he motions for me to step away from the door. I would’ve let it slam shut, but he closes it with care, without so much as a squeak, and tiptoes down the back stairs.
I slap my cheeks several times to force myself back to reality. What’s happening? My lungs refuse to draw full breaths.
In a slight crouch, Blackmore runs across the tiny parking lot. I run along and curse my footwear. My sandal straps are digging into my feet in several places.
Muffled shouts and other sounds of commotion drift from behind the thrift shop’s closed door. We exchange a glance. Mine’s exasperated while Blackmore grins.
“Don’t you dare enjoy this.” I smack him in the shoulder. I’m in pure agony. All I can think of is kicking off my sandals, preferably into a dumpster. There is one right ahead of me.
“Okay, I won’t.” He still beams, too pleased with what’s happening, then his hand encloses mine once more. “Ready to leave them behind for good?”
“You bet.” I smile, but I turn away to hide it. I can’t stay mad at him when he looks so happy, but there’s no need to encourage him either.
We don’t stop until we return to his car.
Blackmore slaps both palms against the SUV’s body and hoots. Throat burning, I press my forehead against the passenger window and soak in its coolness. I hope he has water bottles inside. My feet are on fire, and my head is swimming. I blame the jacket. It caused me to overheat. My hands shake as I unzip it and fumble to take it off.
Dizziness floods me, and my hearing becomes cottony. I must…sit…down. I grab the door handle, but Blackmore hasn’t unlocked the car yet. My vision thickens with darkness. I press my whole face against the window, clinging with my nails to the car’s body and waiting for Blackmore to let me inside. Despite my best efforts to regain normal consciousness, I slide to the ground. The asphalt bites my knees on the impact.
