2
883 Words
I never let men get this close.
My entire body starts to tremble. “Please don’t—” I cut off my plea, not wanting to put my specific fears into words.
I can hear the rustle of fabric as he starts to turn toward me, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be real.
“Relax.”
A large hand settles on my thigh, and I stiffen even more.
The weight of his palm is alarming, the heat of his touch searing me through the blanket.
His hand presses down with a little more force. “Relax.”
His tone is even gentler this time, and I try to take a steady breath. A dark scent fills my nostrils. It’s leather and fire and cologne.
Jesus, is that him?
My eyes slip open.
He’s leaning toward me, invading my space further, and the stance should feel dominating. But there’s something in his body language, or maybe it’s something in his eyes, that makes my body obey. Makes me relax, just a little.
His gaze travels over my face, and this close, I can see a tinge of green in his eyes. They’re stunning.
His eyes move back to mine. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
When I don’t reply, he tips his head down, a command implied with the movement.
“Okay.” I mostly mouth the word, my voice too quiet to hear, but he nods anyway, a pleased look crossing his features.
Pleased that I believe him?
Do I believe him?
His hand slides off my thigh, taking the heat with him. “May I?” May you what?!
Before I have time to start spiraling, he lifts the bowl of popcorn from the spot between us.
Oh.
Without waiting for an answer, he settles back, props his feet up on the coffee table and sets the bowl on his lap. Then, casual as ever, he drapes one arm across the back of the couch, fingers nearly touching my shoulder, like he’s here for a date and not a home invasion.
I watch as he starts to eat the popcorn, whole handfuls at a time, never dropping a single piece on himself.
I should do something.
There must be something I should do.
His jaw works as he chews, the muscles in the side of his neck flexing.
I mean I know I should leave. Or make him leave. But how?
With my eyes still on his profile, waiting for whatever’s going to happen next, I hear the character on the screen talk about courage. And I wish more than anything I had some.
“What’s your name?”
I jump when he speaks, then bite my lip. “Um… I don’t think I should tell you that.” I see his eyes flick over in my direction. “Clever girl.” Those two syllables bounce across my skin.
My fingers tighten around the blanket, pulling it even higher. I can’t find this man attractive.
I really can not.
My stomach clenches and my stupid brain takes this moment to remind me that I probably look like a disheveled mess.
Not that it matters. I don’t need this intruder to think I’m sexy. In fact it’s probably better that he doesn’t. It’s probably better that I have popcorn breath and a ponytail that needs adjusting. And bangs that are going every which way since they got damp when I washed the makeup off my face before sitting down to watch my favorite movie for the four-hundredth time.
The fingers near my shoulder tap against the backrest, keeping in time with the characters on TV as they skip down the road.
This has got to be the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.
A hot as hell man walks in through my second story balcony. Strolls through my apartment with a confidence I can only dream of having. Flashes me a glimpse of his gun. Then settles in to eat my popcorn.
And… is he humming?
Sweet Mother Mary, he’s humming.
With careful, small movements, I push myself further into the corner. Trying to add any amount of distance I can between us.
I want to ask his name. Ask him what he’s running from. But I feel like the less knowledge I have, the better.
Except you’ve seen his face, my inner voice unhelpfully reminds me.
Not knowing what else to do, I stare at his profile. Watching the way the light dances off his eyes. The way his mouth opens and closes around handfuls of popcorn. The way his shoulders seem relaxed.
He seems so at ease. So… comfortable.
My lids lower in a slow blink and I force them wide.
I can’t make out the clock on the microwave from here, but I know it’s past my bedtime. I didn’t intend on staying up for the entire film because waking up at five a.m. every weekday means I go to bed early. And I haven’t been sleeping well this week. Hell, I haven’t been sleeping well the past twenty-seven years.
He chews another mouthful, and I watch the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. Maybe this really is all a dream.
Maybe I’m already in bed, sound asleep.
- Writer
