Dead Pretty

doesn’t get infected.”
His eyes flick to mine, and I look away, caught.
My pulse is pounding, and I can feel my cheeks starting to heat. “I’ll be fine.”
I tug my arm free, and he lets it go this time.
“Thank you … for helping me with the scratch.” I skirt around him, ensuring not to touch one single part of his body with mine.
“No problem.” His voice hits my back as I head for the door.
I pull it open and walk through it, closing it behind me.
I practically sprint to my apartment. Let myself inside and lock up behind me.
I fall back against the door.
Jesus. I’m such a freak. I didn’t even say good-bye. Just hightailed it out of there.
Jack must think I’m a crazy person.
Good. It’s good if he thinks that.
Then, he’ll stay away, and that is what I want.
Right?
Right.
On a sigh, I push off the door and go and do my usual check of my apartment before I continue with running my bath.

My eyes sweep up and down him. He’s wearing that beaten leather jacket that he always wears. Dark blue jeans. A gray henley shirt. Biker boots on his feet.
He looks hot, like usual.
It’s disconcerting, to say the least.
So is the fact that I’m seeing him again.
It was only yesterday when I was in his apartment.
He sees me, eyes locking on to mine, and smiles.
“Hi again,” he says, approaching me.
“Why is it that, less than a week ago, I had never seen you before, and now, I can’t go anywhere without seeing you?”
He stops a few feet from me. Lips parted slightly, like I’ve shocked him into silence.
Did I actually just say that?
I couldn’t have just said hello and been on my way?
But seriously, I go from never seeing this guy to seeing him wherever I go.
It’s … weird.
And I have lived weird, so I know what to look for. And it’s this.
He’s at my place of work—it’s a public building, but that doesn’t count. My apartment building—okay, he lives there, too, so I’ll give him that. But the coffee shop and now the grocery store?
I can go weeks. Months. Without seeing the same person again.
Granted, I avoid people at all costs.
But him? He is everywhere I go.
They’re either coincidences—and I’m not a big believer in that—or he’s following me.
So, I have to go with, he’s following me.
Look … I know I’m a suspicious person nowadays. But come on. Any normal person would feel creeped out by this, wouldn’t they?
Or was that just incredibly rude of me?
He cleaned my arm up yesterday after Eleven scratched it. He didn’t have to do that.
God, I’m such a bitch.
If my adoptive mom could hear me now, she would be so disappointed.
Ashamed, I wince, my eyes closing briefly before opening back up. I look him in the eye. “That was really rude of me. I apologize.”
His eyes are watchful, appraising. Like he’s making his mind up about something. Quite likely me and whether he thinks I’m a dick. It would be no surprise if he thought I was a dick.
“Don’t apologize. It was honest. I like honesty in a person. And I agree; it is odd that we keep running into each other. Do you believe in fate, Audrey?”
Every time he says my name, I feel … shook. Like I was just swept up by a wave and tossed around in the sea, swallowing a mouthful of salt water just for good measure.
I shake my head by way of an answer. My mouth isn’t working right this second.
He grins. “Me either. We’ll just call it coincidence then.”
“I don’t believe in that either.”
His eyes move over my face before settling back on my eyes. “No?”
“Nope. Rarely is anything a coincidence.”
“Rarely?” he queries.
He’s so damn sharp. Picks up on everything.
“Never,” I correct.
“Okay. So, what is your theory as to why we keep running into each other?”
“Because you’re following me?” It comes out more like a question than a statement.
And laughter bursts from him.
He has a great laugh.
Deep and throaty. It makes him even better-looking, and until this moment, I didn’t think that was possible.
His blue eyes are alight with pure humor. “So, I’m stalking you?” he says, still laughing.
I shrug. “I don’t know. You tell me.” Surprisingly, I’m smiling when I say this, and stalking is definitely no laughing matter to me.
“No. I’m not stalking or following you.” He’s still smiling. His full lips tipped up at one corner.
I want to bite those lips.
And where the hell did that thought come from?
“I could say the same about you. That you’re following me.” His brow lifts.
And it’s my turn to laugh. “I’m really not.”
“No? Why should I believe you?” He throws back at me with a smile in his eyes.
“Ditto.”
“This could go on a while, huh?”
“Yep.” I stubbornly jut my chin out.
Another smile, this one actually on his lips. “Okay. So, why don’t we agree that neither of us is following the other? And I know that you don’t believe in fate or coincidence, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. So, we’ll settle on that. What do you say?”
I lift a shoulder. “I can … do that.”
“Good.” His voice is softer now, and his eyes linger on mine, longer than acceptable for two people who are barely even acquaintances.
I can feel things starting to heat and tighten inside of me. Things that have been dormant for a long, long time.
Things that have no business coming to life.
Still, I can’t seem to stop them or shut them down. And the longer I stand here with him, staring into his eyes, the harder it is to remember why I’m not supposed to feel anything.
“Go out with me? For dinner or even just a coffee. I still owe you one, remember?”
The words out of his mouth … the softly spoken words, said in that rough-sounding voice of his, are like being hit with hot and cold water at the same time.
They wake me up from whatever spell I was letting my hormones