Chapter 3
Eve
I feel that prickling heat on the nape of my neck all throughout class. I thought it was him, Captain, when I felt it before, but he's not in my class. Now I think I may be imagining things especially since I feel it now as I walk to the library. Ah, the library. My safe space away from home.
Walking straight to the stacks where I know I’ll find what I’m looking for, I see the book I've been thinking about. The Davenport Library here at Eden University is home to the most extensive collection of books I have ever seen, and libraries are a hobby of mine, so I have seen quite a few.
Pulling the book from the shelf, I read the back excerpt.
' A compelling and compassionate exploration of the death industry and the people — embalmers, detectives, crime scene cleaners, executioners — who work in it and what led them there.'
There are quite a few people here because it’s the middle of the day. Normally, I don’t like to come when it’s so full, but I finished my latest read late last night. Or was it early this morning?
There it is again . I feel it. I feel it so intensely that I know I can't be imagining it. Looking up and turning my head to the left... It's him. The skyscraper. Although, he’s looking suspiciously more menacing than he did either time that I saw him before. That may be because he’s glaring directly at me.
He doesn’t even seem to care that I see him staring.
He just continues to bore a hole straight through me even though he’s been caught.
Wow. He's even more beautiful than I realized the first time I saw him.
His coal black hair is styled in a way that looks accidental, and his eyes are so dark that they appear to be an abyss.
That jaw. That is the most dangerous jawline I have ever seen.
HE is the most beautiful man I have ever seen.
However, even though he is beautiful, I can still sense the danger.
The library is cold, but the chill isn't the cause of my goosebumps.
I know without even giving it much thought that, he could hurt someone without remorse. I instinctively know that he HAS hurt someone, and he isn’t spending time feeling bad about it. I need to move and get far away from this hulking behemoth. He's dangerous and not in a good way.
I turn in the other direction, going out the opposite end of the aisle.
With book in hand, I trod toward the check-out desk.
I've almost made it when the gigantosaurus steps out from the aisle closest to me, putting himself directly in front of me. He startles a gasp from me. I hate being caught off guard or showing people that they’ve gotten to me, but DAMN, he is getting to me.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” His tone is deep and haunting.
I narrow my eyes at him. “And what business is that of yours?”
“Anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to call people names?”
He sounds rough and dark now. It’s the kind of voice that will either give you a stroke in a dark alley or melt your panties off in any other setting. Right now, I think it might be doing both.
“Excuse me?”
“Earlier, when you so rudely ran into me. You called me a, what was it...oh yes, fucker. You called me a fucker and then walked off as if you hadn’t just tried to mow me down.”
“Oh,” I clear my throat. “Right. Well, I called you a fucker because you looked down on me like I was a bug on your windshield. I hit the ground so hard I nearly cracked a hip, and you didn’t even ask to see if I was okay. So, I stand by my earlier assessment.”
Then, sounding more dangerous than ever, he says, “Is that right?”
“That’s right.” This is said with more courage than I feel in this moment.
“Hmmm...I wonder what I could do to change that?”
“Change what?”
He arches one perfect brow. “Your assessment of me.”
I sigh and look back at him, performing my own assessment.
Why is he here? Was he here before me? Did he follow me in?
No, of course, he didn’t. Why would he? Unless.
..does he actually care that I think he’s a fucker?
No. He couldn’t possibly. He oozes ‘I don’t give a shit and will run over your grandmother while she’s carrying presents for orphans’ vibes.
He definitely doesn’t care what I or anyone else thinks about him.
Well, maybe he cares what Ada thinks since, as he said yesterday, she’s his girl.
I definitely don’t care about that. I don’t care about her anymore and I have never cared about this intimidating tower standing in front of me.
“I wouldn’t waste time on that if I were you.”
“Are you saying that you have already judged me so harshly that you can’t imagine your opinion ever-changing?”
Is he guilting me?
“I'm saying that I don’t believe you actually care what I think about you and although I haven’t figured out your motives for stopping me to rehash this, I don’t think it has anything to do with you wanting me to view you in a positive light.”
“Damn, are you always this mean?”
I reel back at that proverbial punch to the gut because There. It. Is.
Am I actually mean? Am I the bitch they say I am? People mill about the stacks and murmur to themselves, but I'm too in my own head to care.
I hear the whispers everywhere else, apart from at home with Vaughn and Eli.
People typically think I'm a snob or a bitch or just unapproachable. Did they ever even try to approach me? I don’t remember a single time that anyone ever really made an effort to know me and since I'm the new girl everywhere, aren’t they supposed to at least try to make me feel welcome?
He seems to notice my discomfort because, for a split second, something softens in those abyss eyes of his before he quickly schools his features back into the cocky smirk he was wearing before.
“I have to go,” I say as I attempt to brush past him, but he cuts me off. I go in the other direction, and he cuts me off again. I stare at him incredulously.
“I’m hungry,” he says like this is something I should care about. I look around, wondering if I'm being Punk’d. Where's Ashton Kutcher?
He continues to look at me as though he asked a question and is waiting for me to respond. Giving in first, I say, “You should probably go get something to eat then.”
“Good idea. Let’s go.”
Both eyebrows shoot to my hairline. “Who go?”
“Was that a full sentence?”
“Uh are you asking me to lunch?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
This guy is way outside of his damn mind if he thinks I'm going anywhere with him. Not only is he a drink stealing stranger, but he is the boyfriend of my arch enemy. No thanks.
“I don’t think your girlfriend would like that very much, so I’ll have to pass.”
“My girlfriend?”
I tilt my chin to the sky, close my eyes, and take in a deep, calming breath.
“Yes. Your girlfriend, Ada. Although, I think you called her something else.” I know very well exactly what he called her, but I'm not about to let him know that. He smiles at me like he just stumbled onto the lost treasure of Atlantis.
“Are you jealous, Wildcat?”
“Jealous?...Wildcat?”
What the actual hell?
“What would I be jealous of and who the HELL is Wildcat?”
“Of the girlfriend you think I have, and YOU are Wildcat, Wildcat.”
Why do I keep finding myself without words with this guy? I’m not jealous and in the world of nicknames, why Wildcat?
“First off, I heard you call her ‘your girl’. Second, I’m not jealous of anyone, ever. Third, why Wildcat?”
He's still wearing that stupid grin like he loves everything I'm saying and that it proves his point or something. If I didn’t have such a strong self-preservation instinct, I would use this book to smack that smile right off his handsome face.
“She’s not my girlfriend and isn’t it obvious why, Wildcat?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if it was obvious.”
He sighs heavily as though he's trying to gather the patience necessary to continue this conversation.
“Wildcat, because in our three encounters so far, you have ripped a drink from my hands, shoulder-checked me, bulldozed me, called me a fucker, and refused to feed me even though you know I'm hungry.”
I stifle a laugh. He says the last part like I'm genuinely depriving a hungry man of sustenance.
“Okay, so say that I was willing to feed you. I don’t cook, by the way. There’s still the minor issue of your girlfriend or non-girlfriend or whatever you want to call her. We’re not exactly friends and I can guarantee that she wouldn’t appreciate us sharing a meal.”
“Like I said, I don’t have a girlfriend or anyone else who would have an opinion on who I share meals with.”
Staying silent, I try to decide whether or not to believe him. I know for certain that he called Ada his girl. I heard him. Why would he lie now? Is he lying now? Is ‘my girl’ just something he says to women?
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I know danger when I see it.”
I swear on Abe Lincoln’s grave that I just saw actual sparks in his eyes when I alluded to him being dangerous.
“Are you saying that I'm dangerous, Wildcat?”
“Most definitely. And not in a James Bond kind of way. I’m getting Voldemort vibes.”
This time, it’s him who appears taken aback. I just can’t tell if it’s real or staged.
“Voldemort? You think I'm a Voldemort?”
“I think on a danger scale of Atticus Finch to Thanos, you’re definitely Thanos.”
He bites his lower lip in what appears to be an attempt to bite back a laugh, and can somebody please get the fire extinguisher because I think my vagina just burst into flames. This man is hotter than the sun.
“Let’s go, Wildcat.”
“Go where?”
“You’re going to feed me.”
“I told you, it’s not a good idea. I’m not going with you. Tell you what, though if you’ll let me buy, I'll Venmo you money for lunch.”
“No thanks. I think I’d much prefer your company.”
Damn, he is persistent. What could it hurt to go to lunch with him?
Well, for starters, he’s probably lying about Ada not being his girlfriend.
Going to lunch with her boyfriend would only make things worse on the team.
Do I care? Ugh. Yes, I do care. I don’t want to, but I do.
Then, there’s also the whole he’s definitely dangerous thing.
And what’s his deal anyway? Why does he even want to go to lunch with me?
Did she put him up to this to see if I would go out with her boyfriend?
Holy shit! Maybe. I wouldn’t put anything past her.
“I’m sorry. I can’t.” I say as I make another attempt to walk past him. To my surprise, he lets me go this time.
As I head to the check-out counter, I try to decipher the hollowness in my chest that's been produced by his absence. Get it together, Eve. Get. It. Together.