A Guide to Ghosting (Monsters of Moonvale #3)
Prologue
PROLOGUE
W armth spreads in my chest as the handsome man across from me laughs so hard at my joke that he has to wipe away tears. When he locks eyes with me and gives me a roguish smile, it turns into a liquid heat that spreads down to pool between my thighs. His lopsided grin shows off the faint scar cutting into his full lower lip, the expression holding a promise of all the sinful things he could do with that mouth.
I tear my eyes away from his lips before I do something stupid, like invite him back to my place, and sip my water in an attempt to regain some of my usual practicality.
I don’t do one-night stands. Hell, even if I wanted to, I’ve never been on a first date that inspired any desire for sex. I’m lucky if I feel any flutters of interest at all.
But tonight is different. Maybe it’s because we spent a few weeks texting before agreeing to meet up, so he feels like less of a stranger. Or maybe it’s because he’s exactly my type—intelligent and empathetic, with a dark sense of humor that matches his hair and eyes. It doesn’t hurt that built like a lumberjack, thick and solid all over, with a slightly scraggly beard to match. Oh, and a perfect smile.
God, he needs to stop smiling at me or I’m going to soak through my panties.
When we leave the restaurant, and that awkward end of the first date moment arrives, my anxiety flares to life, telling me I’m delusional, and this man didn’t feel the things I did tonight. I don’t have long to wallow in my panic, though.
He takes a step forward, giving me a moment to pull away if I want to, then wraps his arms around me in the best hug I’ve ever had. Embracing me with enough force to show he means it without crushing me. A mixture of hard muscle and softness that makes me feel protected and safe. A clean, herbal smell that evokes a memory of helping my favorite foster mom harvest herbs from her garden.
When I pull back, I have to hide how glassy my eyes are. I’m not about to ruin this amazing date by crying because I’m lonely and touch-starved.
“I’m really glad you decided to go out with me tonight, Dot,” he murmurs, his voice sounding similarly affected. His dark eyes hold me captive, and that damn smile spreads across his lips once more. “Can I see you again?”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I’d really like that.”
For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. For even longer, I think I’m going to kiss him. But then his phone vibrates, and he frowns, apologizing before checking it. A line of worry deepens between his brows and I know that the moment for kissing has passed.
His smile is weaker when he looks back up at me. “Sorry about that.”
“Everything okay?”
He nods, shaking off whatever was in that text that caused his mood shift. “Yeah. Just some family stuff.” He reaches out and touches my arm, and even that small touch sends sparks of awareness and excitement skittering across my skin. “I’ll text you in the morning to arrange that second date, if that works for you?”
“Sure. Sounds good.” I do my best not to sound too eager, even as my hopeful heart races.
We say our goodbyes, but not before he tugs me into another hug, this time his beard scraping against my cheek as we separate. I almost invite him home with me, but the delicious tension in the air between us—one I’ve never tasted before—feels like something I should savor rather than rush.
As I lie in bed that night, drunk on the prospect that maybe this is what I’ve been missing, I give myself permission to fantasize about what my future might hold.