Chapter 1 #2
“We have water inside, ma’am.” He calls over to me, and I groan.
There are a lot of things that will aggravate a person, but continuously coming in between someone and a good book will straight piss somebody off!
This man either has the most chivalrous soul I’ve ever met, or he has an issue with me watching him work on my car.
Maybe both. Neither could be true. I don’t know.
But one thing is for certain: if he doesn’t leave me alone, it’s going to become pretty apparent why I’m the sitting outside type, and not inside where the other ladies typically are.
A deep laugh beside me stops whatever insult is about to leave my mouth.
My shoulders tense, and I turn my head in the direction of the laughter.
In the open doorway stands a man whose eyes are locked on me.
His body vibrates with silent laughter as he smirks and shakes his head.
Almost every inch of his skin is covered with various masterpieces of ink.
Well, the visible parts anyway. His shirt is unbuttoned, exposing his tight muscles.
I’m staring at him, but not on purpose. Great!
I add another scornful mark against Scott and add gawking at this man to the list of things that didn’t need to happen today.
He lifts an extra-tall travel mug to his mouth and takes a careful sip. “Tea, leave the woman alone before she slashes your tires because you can’t give up your southern hospitality.”
My head jerks back, “What? I’m not going to slash his tires.”
“Sure, you think that now. But if he keeps bothering you, you might. He’s only getting started. Trust me. Tea can’t help himself. When a woman is around, he is on his best behavior. Don’t let him fool you, though. He’s a sicko, just like the rest of us dogs. Ain’t that right, Tea?”
Tea turns his head in our direction when his name is spoken.
“You’re just a dog looking to bury a bone, huh?” The man says to him with a hint of laughter in his words.
Tea awkwardly smiles and nods. “Uh huh. Sure.” He goes back to working on my car, grabbing a wrench out of his pocket.
The man turns his attention back to me, “A person can’t trust anyone. Sometimes, not even themselves. So, yeah, I wouldn’t blame you if you slashed his tires.”
What? My eyes shift between them. This is strange, and that’s a big statement coming from someone like me.
I like the strange and unusual things in the world.
Not that any of that matters right now. This man is wrong.
I wouldn’t slash his buddy’s tires for something as insignificant as being overly polite.
Although I couldn’t say they’d be the first set of tires I had sunk a blade into in my lifetime if I did do it.
But I’m not going to. “That still doesn’t warrant slashing the guy’s tires.
Besides, I don’t even know what Tea drives.
How would I know that? I wouldn’t. End. Of. Story.”
Tea glares at the man for a second and huffs. “I didn’t mean any harm, ma’am.”
“It’s ok. You were being polite,” I correct him, getting to my feet, and returning my phone to my pocket. Clearly, reading isn’t happening today, at least not here.
“Bullshit. He was being a pushy gentleman.”
“Is that even a thing?” I eye him and he nods, sitting on the steps beside me.
“It is around here. We have all kinds, don’t we, Tea?” he calls a bit louder.
“Yeah. Whatever you say, Nevermore. You’re the Prez.”
My eyes shift between the two of them. Nevermore, Prez?
As in president? What is he the president of, and why does Tea sound like the raven plucked right out of an Edgar Allen Poe book?
I have so many questions, but no right at all to ask any of them.
I’m here to get my oil changed and nothing more.
“Exactly,” the man beside me agrees, taking another drink from his travel mug. “So, which is it?”
“Huh?” I ask him when I realize he’s talking to me, and not Tea. “Which is what?”
“Are you sitting out here because you don’t trust Tea over there with your ride, or do you really like being out here where everyone is?”
I think about his question. I know the answer, but I’m not sure if I want him to. Why is the fact that I’m sitting outside even being brought into conversation, not once, but twice? “Does it really matter?”
“Nah. I’m curious, though. Humor me?”
“The only thing I can think of is that the water in there must be some of the best-tasting water. That, or the couch is made of butter or something.” I blurt out exactly what I’m thinking.
He chuckles, “Why’s that?”
“Because it would have to be. Otherwise, y’all wouldn’t cause this much of a fuss over someone who prefers to sit outside and wait while their oil is being changed. Would you?”
“So, it’s both then?”
“What?” Needing to move and have something to release the anxiety building up in my body, I flatten my palm against the fingers of my other hand, pushing them until the knuckles pop.
Nevermore stands, reaching past me, and sets his cup on an old windowsill that has been painted over.
“You like to watch and be watched, don’t you, Crow,” he says in a low, rough voice inches away from my ear.
His finger brushes my hair away from my face and behind my ear, lightly dragging his thumb along my jawline.
He cups my chin, holding my gaze. My mouth is dry.
I should tell him to stop, rip his fingers off, but his skin on mine feels right and so very very wrong. A delicious mix of sin and innocence.
“Crow?” I somehow manage to push my question from my parched lips.
He nods to the crow tattoo on my right arm, his eyes flicking to my inner forearm.
I hold it out for him to see it better, and he takes my arm in his hand, running his rough fingertips along the tip of a wing.
“Nice work,” he admires. Shivers run up my arm, and I swear they sink into my soul.
My core aches as his fingers trace every line like he’s etching them into his memory and searing them deeper into my skin.
“Oh, erm. Your ride is ready.” Tea mumbles in an uncomfortable tone, standing a few feet away from us.
I must have been so deep in thought that I didn’t notice he had finished with my car.
I bring my attention to his face and muster up a very uneasy smile.
His cheeks burn with embarrassment. Even though I can’t see my own reflection, judging by the sudden rush of heat to my face, he isn’t the only one blushing.
Nevermore withdraws his hands, and I bite my lip, wishing his fingers were still against my skin.
Burning me.
Ruining me.
Leaving a trail of fire and desire in their wake.
“You did a great job, I’m sure. Thank you, Tea.” I lay it on thick. I should set the record straight, put this Nevermore guy in his place, but I won’t. I linger on his accusing words and curious touch, his eyes burning into mine with anticipation.
It’s close to Halloween, and seeing the masks this time of year unlocks something sinister in my brain.
Something I’ve never admitted to anyone, usually not even to myself.
It’s sick. I know. But he’s right. The thought of someone wanting someone else so much that they can’t live without that person is probably unsettling to most people.
I’m not most people. I guess it goes back to the Prince Charming mindset that is drilled into little kids’ minds.
I want that. No. I need that kind of desire.
Maybe then I would feel alive again. Maybe I would end up dead.
I don’t know, but one thing is for damned sure—Scott doesn’t make me feel alive.
Every time he glares at me, I can practically feel his hate squeezing the air from my lungs.
Each insufferable word to escape his lips erases another year off my life.
Nevermore’s mouth pulls into a knowing smirk, and even though I know it isn’t possible, for a second, I wonder if he can read the dirty thoughts circling around in my head.
The ones that have always been there, lying dormant, hibernating inside me.
The menacing desires I’ve tried so hard to ignore.
The ones that he pulled from their graves and breathed life into without knowing it.