Page 32 of Never Say Yes To A Stranger

“What the hell was that?” I shoot straight up again.

And again, Beau goes racing back down the stairs.

He’s back in under one million years, or just a few minutes,again. This time, I manage not to grab my pillow. I just sit there in bed, gulping air.

“It was just one of the barn cats scratching at the door. The one that looks like it’s ready to slay in a cat battle. She ran off as soon as I appeared. I wasn’t the one she was hoping for.”

“Oh. Mama sometimes does that.” I willnotlaugh at the image that’s placed in my head. “Sometimes she wants in for a two-minute cuddle or more of those tube cat treats.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“It’s not the middle of the night, but no, she doesn’t care what time of day it is. Cats are cats. You’re ontheirschedule. You’d know that if you ever had one. You’re owned by the cat, not the other way around.”

He sighs, walks over, and turns on the lights like we’re going to have a discussion about cats. I don’t want to have a discussion with him. I want to get away from him, and from the way his eyes are all dark and suddenly soft and sort of smoldering hot, and his whole entire face and body look extra kissable and lickable andjumpable.

“I should probably go down and see if she comes back. She needs her pets,” I say.

“I think you should just go to sleep.”

“I’m not sure why you turned on the lights if you want me to do—oh my god! Your pump!” It’s not in his arm. The round plastic circle is gone. I should have done more research about how those things work, but I’m pretty sure they need to be there to work. Maybe he had more of a fight with the raccoon than he let on, and it stole it and ran off with the super expensive, life-saving piece of equipment. “Shit! Jesus!” I need to think fast. Stay calm. Not panic. He’s going to be fine. Uh, he will, right? I scramble out of bed so fast that I just about land on my face. I correct myself with two hands on the nightstand and a swift spin that puts me somewhat upright. “I’m going to call an ambulance!”

“Whoa.” He steps close to me but doesn’t touch me. He’s never touched me, and maybe that’s part of the madness and frustration that’s been building all week. I mean…no. NO, in screaming capital letters. “It’s okay. I have to move it every couple of days. The risk of infection gets too high otherwise, and having a needle in your skin like that can build up scar tissue that would make it not very effective. I just located it here.” He sweeps his T-shirt up and points at his stomach.”

I focus on the pump. Naturally. Not on all the abs and perfect skin and the flawless V that his body does and the—

He drops his T-shirt back down, and I let out a sigh of relief that I really should have kept inside. “Does it hurt?” I stammer out again to cover up for the jailbreak of a sigh.

“It doesn’t hurt me. But I can’t speak for others.” He says that again, like he did the first time.

He shuts off the lights, and I see him point to the bed. The hall light isn’t on, but there’s enough light coming through the crack I always leave in the curtains. Even if I were scared of someone climbing all the way up to look into them, which wouldbe virtually impossible because the bedroom is on the side of the house, and they’d need to be really dedicated and very talented or have a massive ladder, I wouldn’t close them all the way because they’d block out all the daylight in the morning, which would make it impossible to wake up.

We both climb back into bed and do the back thing again. Do the tense thing again.

This time, I listen to all the sounds drifting in from outside. There’s nothing off, but they sound kind of…sinister tonight or something. I don’t know why, but I start shaking a little. I have to ask the question I’ve refused to ask all week. I never asked because I feel like if I mention it, it’ll come undone. Like, I’ll jinx it or something. “How’s the investigation going?” That’s probably not even what it’s called.

“It’s coming along,” he grunts. “These things take time.”

“I thought you said it would be fast.”

“Fast when compared to how the justice system sometimes takes years to resolve things.”

It’s so weird having this conversation with the ceiling. I should turn to look at him, but I don’t. I’m not going to break first. I should call him an inventive butt term. Then, he’d say, “There you go, being all obsessed again.” And he’d be right. I hate that he’s right all the time. It only adds to his inhuman side, and it’s exhausting.

“We’re working on it, I promise,” he assures me, and that might be the first human thing he’s said to me since he told me about his family in the barn.

I still can’t believe he did that.

It was like he was a completely different person. Like he had a blip in his sanity. It’s almost like it never even happened. Whoever that guy was in those moments, he’s not coming back.

“What if Aiden goes free?” I whisper. “What if I never get my life back? What if he’s out there, constantly haunting me andhurting me or hurting other people? What if he does something worse and frames me or someone else? What if—”

He puts a hand gently over my mouth and cuts me off.

His hand is huge. My mouth is not. So it’s shocking. It’s also dark in here, and I was talking. I know he just meant to cover my lips, but part of his palm misses, and his finger slips between my lips, and I kind of…choke on it when I inhale in surprise.

“Blah!” I half spit it out and half accidentally bite him a little.

He hastily snatches his hand back.

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