Chapter 2 Malena #2
Leif clears his throat to draw my eyes back to him. “What you’re saying then, because you’re definitely talking to me right now, is I win,” he says, lips pulling up in one corner. “Your ass is perfect, by the way. That was the truth.”
I try to catch my breath. Men don’t dazzle me, but Leif is paralyzing my thoughts.
“Thanks. I think. You’re proclaiming your victory in one breath and complimenting my ass in the next.
I can’t be sure if you want my number or if you’re bored,” I say, glancing over his shoulder to the hodgepodge of random bar patrons.
“You’re probably used to places far more stimulating than Bobby’s Bar.
” I meet his eyes and run my fingers through my hair.
My song comes on, and I sway my head back and forth while I wait for him to respond.
He groans. “You’re right. This place is dead. Want to get out of here?”
While he’s distracted with thoughts of leaving the bar with me and what that entails, I study his body.
His arms are strong, blue veins cutting ridges across the tops of his hands and forearms. They show a touch more than on a normal person because his skin isn’t as dark as a Bronze Bay native.
It’s more of a creamy beige, the color after you’ve been outside, but not too long. I bet he burns easily.
“This is an awful song, by the way,” he returns after several long seconds.
“Why would I leave here with you? You don’t like my music choices, and I know nothing about you. What if you’re a Ted Bundy copycat?”
His smile is broad. “Are you calling me hot?”
I furrow my brow. “He was a serial killer, Leif. A psycho.”
“But he was hot. More attractive than most men. That’s why he was such a successful serial killer.”
Turning away from him, I start to walk away.
“Okay. That’s about enough of that. It wasn’t nice meeting you, but welcome to Bronze Bay.
Officially. If you’re thinking about using your looks to kill chicks, stay away from the one in the black fishnet.
She’ll slit your throat before you get the tip in. ”
He laughs loudly and grabs my arm. Annoyed, I turn back but don’t meet his eyes. “So, you are saying I’m good-looking enough to kill chicks.”
“Oh my gosh. You’re awful!” A smile slips, just because he looks so jovial and pleased with his sadistic jokes. At least, I hope they’re jokes.
“Malena,” he coos. “You know where I work. You know my friends. You know more about me than I know about you. I’m not killing anyone,” he says, looking to the side. “Not tonight at least. I don’t think.”
His face is thoughtful, and a chill creeps down my spine. He does kill.
I widen my eyes. “Comforting. Really. This conversation is really something. I’ll give you that much. Can’t say I’ve ever had a pickup line quite like this.”
“It’s not a pickup line,” Leif says. “You can see the dust motes in the air in here. I’m asking if you want to get out of here.
We could walk down to the beach and talk about serial killers and hot men.
I’m not coming on to you. My friends are busy,” he explains, eyeing his friends trying to pick up a few Bronze Bay ladies.
“And I don’t want to go back home yet in case my sister hasn’t left.
” Leif looks like he wants to explain but decides against it.
I look at my watch once more. I have an hour. I can give him an hour. “Only because the air quality really is something I worry about,” I reply, smirking. “And only if you dance with me to my song choice.”
He leans off the jukebox, arms held wide. “I am your man for that job, Malena of Bronze Bay.” His shoulders rise up and down as he bends his knees and juts his hips. One of his friends catcalls, witnessing his atrocious attempt at what I assume is a form of dancing.
Leif bites his bottom lip and doesn’t take his gaze off mine. His blue eyes are challenging, searching, blazing with anything except indifference. “You going to join me?” he says.
“It was one of my most unforgivable mistakes asking you to dance with me. I rescind my invitation.”
He shakes his head. “I called your ass perfect.” His sway becomes more severe as the beat drops, and I laugh out loud. People are noticing the show he’s putting on. “Show me you can move it.”
“Air quality, remember?” I pick up my watered-down drink and take a sip. “Beach?”
Leif narrows his eyes and doesn’t stop dancing. “It would be a crime if you don’t dance with me,” he says, noticing the attention he’s getting. “Any other ladies want to dance with me? Malena here isn’t up for the challenge.” His voice is booming with command, and I know they’ll come.
My face heats as two skanky river rats wind their way into our vicinity and start working their bodies against Leif.
One in front of him and one behind him. He’s thoroughly engrossed in watching me as he dances with the girls—trying to decipher my reaction.
His friends are now shouting his name, and women are shouting out joyfully.
The first time he looks down at the girl in front of him is my chance to escape.
Putting my drink down on the nearest table, I back into the crowd of people surrounding us.
I rush down the dark hallway with the peeling wallpaper and old posters advertising live mic nights and hit the back door at a jog.
He was right about one thing. The fresh air really is a relief.
I have to be back home in forty-five minutes, and while I dread returning, especially even a minute early, there’s no way I’m staying here to talk to my friends after the Leif show.
How embarrassing! It reminds me why men are more trouble than they’re worth.
Rounding the dumpsters, I head to the side lot and find my parked car.
“I thought we were heading to the beach,” Leif says, appearing on the passenger side of my car. He’s grinning like a complete lunatic, utterly pleased with himself. If I wasn’t so annoyed, I’d probably smile back. At the moment, my resting bitch face is at full tilt.
“Bringing your dance partners to the beach?” I ask.
“You invited me to dance and then turned me down,” he replies. “Rude.”
I bring a hand to my chest. “I’m rude? You’re crazy. I don’t have room for any more crazy in my life.”
“I don’t want to be in your life, Malena. I want to go to the beach with you, right now.” He says the words “right now” like they’re the words he wants me to focus on. “Be my beach friend,” he adds.
“I’m going against every womanly instinct by agreeing to this. You’re lucky I have some time before I have to be home.”
His forehead wrinkles. “Before you have to be home? Do you have a boyfriend? Husband?”
Releasing my door handle, I turn toward the edge of the lot where it dips down to a path that leads to the beach.
When he’s next to me, I answer. “Would my husband or boyfriend be okay with me walking down to the beach with my new beach friend?” I let my gaze flick from the top of his head down to his toes very methodically.
He kicks up his flip-flops and catches them when we hit the sand section of the path. I scoop up mine in one hand. “I suppose he wouldn’t, would he? So why do you have to go home?” Leif clears his throat and looks at my profile. “You have a kid?”
He’s perfectly uncomfortable now, and I relish the feeling he gave me back in the bar. “Do I look like a mama?” I ask, smiling at the dusty pink and dark blue swirls of the sky butting up against a glass-calm ocean.
His eyes slant down in the corner, deep in thought, trying to figure out how best to answer such a pivotal, possibly offensive, question.
We stop before we hit the packed, wet sand and stay perfectly still as we take in the beautiful night.
Leif takes in a deep breath and finally replies, “Honestly, your ass says no, but your age, location, and desire to be at home say yes.”
“Age and location, huh?” A few seagulls call out overhead and break up the sound of waves lapping against the shore.
“Forgive me if this is a stereotype, but I have discovered that many of the women who look about your age”—he finally glances over to meet my gaze—“have kids and husbands. There’s nothing wrong with that, mind you, but it’s not that way where I’m from.
The big city and everything. City people are busy doing everything except settling down. ”
I don’t say anything. I keep my face neutral and pretend to be offended.
The longer I stay silent, the more he moves—his body rocking back and forth, from foot to foot.
“You are a serial killer, aren’t you?” I say.
“Making sure I don’t have a family that will look for me.
Rest assured, I’m more like the city people you speak of.
I don’t have any kids or a husband. Not even a boyfriend. Or prospects.”
He blows out a long breath. “You had me worried.”
“Don’t like kids?” I smile.
He shakes his head. “Or families,” he jokes. “For the record, I feel like I need to say it right now: I’m not going to kill you.”
“My mom has dementia,” I blurt, and he looks surprised. “Her nurse leaves in about thirty minutes, and someone has to be there all the time. She forgets where she’s at and will try to leave. It’s a pretty shitty situation.”
He nods. “I see. I’m sorry. No one else to help out then? Sisters or brothers?”
Sighing, I turn my eyes back to the ocean. “Unfortunately not. Just me and the person she’s turned into. I shouldn’t be telling you this. You don’t care. I don’t talk about her often. It’s a depressing subject, and I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. So don’t.”
He clears his throat. “Family is important. You shouldn’t worry about what people think. It’s not depressing, it’s life. I’d never feel sorry for you.”
I quirk one brow and sit down in the soft, dry sand. Looking up at him, I’m greeted with a mammoth figure. “What if I told you to feel sorry for me?” I smirk, trying to sway the mood of the conversation to something lighter.
He sits down next to me, his long legs stretched out way past mine, and puts an arm around my shoulder. “You’re the most pathetic excuse for a woman I’ve ever met. I am more than sorry for you, I feel bad for you, and I’m going to be your beach friend anyway.” He sighs. “Better?”
I nod. “So much better.”
“Good.”
The silence beats on, and I know I have to go soon, and for the first time in a long time, I’m happy right where I am. Random questions are always the safest. You can discover things about another person without getting too personal. “What would you do if you won the lottery?” I ask.
“We don’t have enough time for that question tonight,” he replies. “What would you have done if I had pulled you to my chest and danced with you inside the bar?”
I swallow hard. “I would have danced with you.”
“Noted. What would you do if I asked you out to lunch tomorrow?” Leif asks. I started the harmless game, but he’s giving it a life of its own, taking it to dangerous places.
“I’d say no.”
“Why?” He looks at me, and I feel his gaze boring into the side of my head.
“I work tomorrow,” I reply, turning to take the full-on seduction of his eyes. My breaths quicken and my pulse skyrockets—I can feel it slamming against my neck. “So I can’t go to lunch with you tomorrow. I would go to lunch with you on another day.”
He leans back on his elbows. “I’ll take that.”
“You’ll take what? I’m the one accepting a lunch date with a serial killer.”
He pulls me back so I’m on my elbows next to him, and my body buzzes where my arm skin meets his. “A hot serial killer,” he admonishes.
“How could I forget?” I add, my tone sarcastic. “You are a horrible dancer, though. It makes me trust you a little more.”
“I don’t trust you at all,” he returns.
I laugh. “You shouldn’t.” Running my hand through my hair, I catch him watching my face. “What would you do if I asked you to come home with me? Hypothetically, of course.”
Leif tilts his head to the side, and his brows tilt inward. “I’d tell you yes and probably make it halfway to your house before I would turn around and decide it was a bad idea.”
“Huh,” I say, nodding thoughtfully. “Interesting. Why a bad idea?”
“I don’t even know your last name, Malena. What kind of man do you think I am?” Leif stands and clasps his hands behind his back, looking like that picture of a gentleman he was when he introduced himself.
He’s grinning as he extends one hand down to help me stand. I take it and make an effort to stand closer to him when I rise. “Winterset,” I say, pulling my bottom lip in with my top teeth. “My last name is Winterset.”