THREE
“Uh, sorry,” I apologize, going for broke first and asking questions later. I have no problem shoveling my pride down into the veritable underworld if it’s going to get me out of here alive and get me out from under that intense stare.
The stranger mumbles something but I wasn’t paying attention to his mouth and my ears are clearly not back online now that I’ve been captivated by his stare, and his stare alone—whiskey-colored eyes, Jesus.
“Sorry?” I say again, leaning in closer, dipping my head off to the side, bringing my ear in close, but not too close, because he’s a strange guy who didn’t get confrontational but could have and I don’t want to encourage anything.
“Thanks for saving me back there,” he says, his voice is like velvet and deep and melodious and it should be illega
