Page 3 of The Pucking Wrong Man

“Hi, Michael,” I said politely. “I don’t have time to talk today. I need to get home.”

He smirked and made a disgusting show of dragging his gaze up and down my body, like I wasn’t just a kid.

I was at the age where I was definitely noticing boys, even if I was staying far away from them.

But my boobs hadn’t even come in yet. I didn’t eat enough to have the curves that boys were already talking about at school.

The way he stared at me...

Creepy.

It didn’t help that his eye color was what I would describe as “watery blue.” For some reason that color had always given me the shivers. I’d seen a character described like that in a book once and it had always stuck with me. Michael’s eyes looked empty...that was the word. Like he was wearing a mask and there wasn’t actually anything inside of him.

A shiver crept up my back and I held it in.

“I don’t know why you try so hard to not be friends with me, Ana. I could really help you out.” He brushed some invisible hair from his face, trying for a hot guy move that was never going to work for him—at least not in my eyes.

“Anastasia,” I said stiffly.

“What?”

“Anastasia. My name’s Anastasia.”

He snorted. “I’ve heard other people call you Ana before.”

I opened my mouth to answer—to tell him that the only people who called me that were people I liked—or at least tolerated.

Snapping my lips closed, I didn’t say anything. But somehow the words still hovered in the air between us, and the smile he’d been sporting transformed into a dark frown.

“Okay, well, nice to talk to you,” I said instead, turning to step away. I really did need to get home. And it said something about how uneasy Michael made me feel that I would rather be at home than talking to him.

It said a lot actually.

His hand shot out and grabbed my arm.

Tightly.

“Ouch,” I growled, trying to pull away.

“Ana,” he answered, emphasizing the nickname in a calm voice that somehow made me flinch. “You just need to accept that we’re going to be friends. And that it will be a good thing for you.”

“Uh huh,” I answered, finally succeeding in pulling my arm away. I could feel the lingering pressure of his grip as I backed up, not taking my eyes off him.

He didn’t lunge after me or do anything else, though.

Michael did something scarier instead.

He smiled.

There were a whole bunch of promises in that smile that I wanted nothing to do with.

As soon as he turned, I sped toward home, thinking that someday I wasn’t going to run from anything that scared me.

But that someday was definitely not today.

I dragged my tired feet up the overgrown gravel drive. It was a tangled mess of weeds and thorns and neglect.

Home sweet home.

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