Page 36 of Heart of Thorns

I didn’t realize I was a stalker until I spot Briar exiting an apartment building just up the street. I jog to easily catch up, only slowing to a halt when I’m right beside her.

“Briar.”

She jumps out of her skin, lurching away. She stumbles and rights herself quickly, and a flush works its way up her neck and across her jaw.

I like this flustered version of her.

“Don’t do that,” she hisses.

I raise my hands in surrender.

“Where did you even come from?” She glances over her shoulder, her brows furrowing.

The accusation in her tone makes me thinkshenow is considering me a stalker. Which I did just admit to myself, too. So. That’s fair.

Not true, but fair to assume.

“I live two blocks down. Same street.” I hook my thumb behind us. “Probably why we ran into each other when you were nearly taken out by runaway baseballs.”

She gives me a true scowl.

Her black shirt is long-sleeved and skin-tight, showing off her curves. The neckline is high enough to hide her cleavage but leave her collarbones bare. I don’t know how she makes wearing a shirt so effortlessly sexy, but there it is. I’ve never wanted to be a scrap of fabric so bad.

“I suppose you would see it that way.” She sighs. “What are you doing? It’s Saturday.”

“I am well aware.” I appraise her. “I’m going to the library.”

Her lips turn down. “That’s where I was going.”

“Great.”

We walk in silence, and it strikes me that I should ask her if she’s made a decision. I’m not one to shy away from confrontation—part of me is into it, which is probably why my attraction to Briar is so present. She doesn’t give a fuck about who I am.

Just that I insulted her a few times.

I match her pace. She doesn’t have a pronounced limp right now. It seems to only come out when she’s been on her legs for a while. Although she walks slower than some others, I don’t really give a shit about that.

It’s nice to slow down and smell the roses.

TheBriarroses?

Fuck off, brain.

I glance at her. Then straight ahead.

I just need to ask her if she’s made a decision.

If she’ll be my fake serious girlfriend.

Open my mouth to spit out the words…

“You’re staring,” she interrupts, and I don’t get a damn word out.

“No, I’m not. I’m pointedly not staring, grumpy cat.”

She snorts, and I smile.

We make it to the library without further conversation, and I kick myself internally when she strides away from me without looking back. I sign in, scrawling my name just below hers, then follow.

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