Page 17 of Wild Card

My entire body trembles with shivers I can’t fight. I only have a little farther to go if Bear’s note is accurate, and I’m sure it is.

I keep my eyes on my aching, socked feet as I follow the sidewalk down.

His house really is in the middle of town.

As soon as I hit the first road, I recognize the shops I passed coming in.

My stomach churns, making it hard to focus on anything for too long. Part of it is from drinking too much last night, but the rest I think might be due to embarrassment.

The sound of tennis shoes hitting the concrete catches my attention as it moves closer. Someone must be out for an early morning jog, and they’re heading directly toward me.

I don’t understand people who exercise.

If I’m running, you better join in, because something truly terrifying is on our asses.

The jogger’s sneakers get larger as they approach, but I keep my eyes on the sidewalk just in front of me.

This is the most random walk of shame ever.

I didn’t even get lucky last night.

I’m like ninety-nine percent sure of that.

My life really isn’t in good shape.

I just don’t know how to get it back on track. Losing Thorne and Brooklyn all in one week sent me into a tailspin that I’ve had trouble coming back from.

All I want is to be happy.

To find a decent pack and settle down.

I’m so tired of being rejected.

I want someone to love and protect me, like my sister’s guys look after her.

Being lonely is starting to affect me on a soul-deep level.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” A voice breaks the silence of the morning, and it sounds very similar to Thorne’s.

My socked feet leave the sidewalk as I jolt.

My eyes fly up, but I know it’s not really Thorne. I was thinking about him, so my brain is playing tricks on me.

All the air around me evaporates as my heart stalls. I bring a hand up, rubbing at the painful ache in my chest.

Malik Thorne looks every bit as handsome and put together as he did four months ago. He’s wearing a white long-sleeve T-shirt and black workout pants.

He rocks on his sneakers, studying me carefully in return.

“Lennox, holy fuck. What the hell happened to you?” His T-shirt stretches over his strong chest as it heaves. “Did you fight a homeless guy and steal his coat?”

Sweat rings line his abdomen, and his scent seems to flood my nostrils as he reaches out a hand.

Mine flies up so fast that my heels fly out of my hold as I slap his fingers away.

“Don’t you dare touch me.” My head shakes violently, and it makes my stomach roll. Swallowing back bile is the icing on this terrible morning’s cake, but I refuse to vomit in front of Thorne.

“I’m serious, Lennox,” he says, stepping closer as I back away. “Should I be calling the police right now or going back to my room to grab my gun?”

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