Page 5 of Offside Devil

I stifle a yelp and clap my hands over my body. Pretty Boy lets his gaze slowly track downward to see what’s got me all hot and bothered. His eyes burn, but of all the times I’ve ever seen lust on a man’s face, this one is somehow different.

He wants me—that much is obvious. Even though I avoid men like the plague these days, I’ve witnessed enough desire to recognize it now.

He wants me and he wants me bad—but he won’t lay a finger on me unless I ask for it. That much is obvious, too. Don’t ask me how I know it because I have no freaking clue, but I’m as sure about it as I’ve ever been about anything in my whole cursed life. It’s like he’s some wild animal, a lion or a panther, and he wants to feast, but I’m holding the leash. I have all the power.

“The macchiato,” I explain weakly.

Pretty Boy chuckles. “I ought to go buy that customer a lifetime supply.”

I laugh, too. “I’d rather you give him a lifetime supply of what you just gave that creep.”

The smile fades from his face as quickly as it came. I can’t decide if he’s more beautiful when he’s smiling or when he’s smoldering. Both are butterfly-inducing. “I would have come sooner if I’d heard,” he rumbles.

“It’s okay. Really. I was gonna… figure it out.”

“Mm.” He’s unconvinced.

His face is so close—when did that happen? Did he move toward me or did I move toward him? Those eyes are truly insanely blue. They go on forever and ever. Sky-deep, ocean-deep.

I could do it, if I wanted to. Kiss him, I mean. I have the leash. I have the power. Hell, I’m already mostly naked, and it’d be such an easy thing to let myself have one nice thing for once in my life.

So yeah, I could kiss him and maybe do more than that and it’d be okay. Maybe it would even heal me, in some small way.

Or maybe not.

Maybe I’d just infect him with the same sick stuff that’s been ruining my world for as long as I can remember. Maybe it’d be like an anti-fairy tale, where the princess kisses the prince and turns him back into a frog. I could drag him down into the depths with me, into a life of furtively checking shadows and counting steps to exits and using biting sarcasm to keep everyone who might be good for me at arm’s length, because God forbid I dare to love someone again. I’ve seen how that ends: in blood-soaked hands and screams that no one hears.

In the end, the answer is obvious. I shouldn’t kiss him. I shouldn’t even try.

Instead, I do the only thing I can do:

I shove him backwards, scoop up my clothes, and run.

4

MIRA

I dump my sodden work uniform in one of the trash bins along the wall and, without breaking pace, snatch two green aprons from the hooks next to the break room. Kylie and Aaron will be missing their name tags when they come in for their shifts in an hour, but that isn’t my problem.

None of this is my problem.

Not anymore.

I tie one apron on the right way and then spin the other around and fasten it on backwards. The thigh-high slits on either side of my makeshift ensemble aren’t exactly modest, but there’s no exposed butt cheeks in sight, so I’m calling it an improvement.

As I look back at The Creep, I want to stop and study his unconscious face. See if I recognize him. I want to ask him, Why me? Is he just some run-of-the-mill pervert who saw an opening, or did he target me with a purpose? Was he watching me?

Does he know who I am?

Does he know what I’ve done?

Anxiety crawls up my spine, but there isn’t time for questions.

I’ve still got The Pretty Boy Savior in my rearview mirror. Broad shoulders lean out of the open bathroom door and I flinch. Pretty Boy kicks the unconscious lump in the hallway.

“I knocked him out,” he explains. “You don’t have to run.”

For a single second, I consider what it would look like to stay.

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