Page 139 of The Last Good Man

He takes a drag, blows the smoke up, and brings his hand to my mouth.

His fingers gently press against my lips while he slides the cigarette between them.

His skin smells like smoke, aftershave, and him,and it'senough to make me lose my breath.

MELODY

We study each other, guarded.

My gaze is curious.

His eyes are unreadable.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask.

“I asked inside.”

“How did you know I was at the club?”

“I followed you.”

“You followed me?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you?”

“Outside. In the car.”

“I didn’t see your car.”

His lips tilt into a smile.

Busted.

“I wasn’t looking,” I say.

He glances away, his lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Sure.”

This type of insolence fits him well.

“What happened to your therapy session?” I ask.

“I cut it short.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I needed to attend a social function.”

“And she believed you?”

He takes the cigarette from my hand, puts it between his lips, gives me a reason to watch and lust after his mouth, and inhales before letting it out in a soft stream of smoke.

“Yes, she did,” he says softly.

“You have her wrapped around your finger.”

---