Page 49 of Hide From Me

I drop my phone onto the counter and march to the bathroom, yanking the cabinet open to grab my toothbrush for the third time tonight. The bristles scrape against my teeth, hard enough to make my gums ache. My mind replays the kiss again and again—his hands on my face, my body frozen in shock, the nausea curling through me like poison.

I gag, spit, and brush harder. Rinse. Repeat. If I scrub long enough, maybe I can forget his mouth on mine. Maybe the memory will rot away and leave me feeling clean. But it doesn’t.

It clings to me, just like everything else.

All I wanted was a night. Just one night to go out and feel pretty and get my mind off everything–the things Laura said to me, the fact the man who tormented me for so long is still haunting me. I needed to remind myself that there were others out there besides Moe–that I could not only protect myself but feel safe with others as well. For a split moment tonight I didn't look over my shoulder to see if brown eyes were tracking my every move, I didn't checkmy phone to make sure I had full access to call 999. I even chose a damn cop as a date for fuck’s sake. For a sliver of time I thought I was okay—safe—but I was proven wrong.

He cornered me like I was prey, just like Lance used to. No matter how polite, distant, or careful I tried to be, I always end up back here. Men always take what they want. And apparently, sometimes even a punch to the face isn’t enough of a “no.”

I don’t know if I want to cry or scream. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe I want to go back in time and not feel anything at all.

The knock on the door nearly rips me out of my skin. I bolt down the hallway, not bothering to turn off the water, and yank the door open as if I'm ready for war. Moe’s grin falters the moment he sees me. His hand lifts instinctively, reaching across the threshold like he’s trying to soothe a spooked animal.

“Whoa, baby,” he says softly, lowering his voice as if he's speaking to something wounded. I’m not wounded. I’m not fragile. I’m not afraid. I swore I would never feel this way again, yet my body shudders, as if it doesn’t believe me.

I do believe it, but I take a step back anyway, needing the space. His tone is too gentle. Too comforting. Too much of everything I swore I didn’t need. I don’t even have it in me to tease him or poke fun to pull a smile from him. I just want—

He takes a step closer, gently easing the door shut behind him, never once letting his eyes stray from mine.

I don’t know what I want.

Do I want him to hold me and let me share how I felt cornered, similar to how my ex used to make me feel? Do I want to jump up and down and tell him how Ifinallydefended myself without the fear of repercussions? Do I want him to leave so I never have to look at another man again?

My breathing becomes shallow as I rub my hand against my chest, trying to ease the sudden constricting feeling.

“You have the prettiest eyes,” Moe says softly, grinning as if he's trying to coax me out of hiding.

It almost works. My lips twitch, and my breathing eases.

“And that smile…” He whistles and steps closer. “Don’t even get me started on that damn smile.”

He closes the distance between us, surrounding me with his presence, his scent, the familiar warmth of sandalwood, and something smoky—something distinctlyhim.

“I’m going to put my arms around you now, okay, sunshine?”

I nod, unable to trust my voice, and then I’m enveloped in him—his arms, his warmth, his strength. His hands move slowly, gliding over my arms and back, firm yet gentle, and I melt against him.

“You always smell the same,” I mumble into his shirt, and he laughs softly, the sound vibrating against my cheek.

“Yeah? What do I smell like?”

“Sandalwood. With a hint of smoke. Like a bonfire in autumn.”

He hums in response. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

His hand brushes through my hair, and I close my eyes, inhaling his scent as if it could ground me. His touch isn’t demanding; it’s steady, patient, andsafe.

“You’re worrying me a bit, sunshine. What’s wrong?”

I pull back just enough to look up at him. “I went on a date.”

His expression doesn’t change right away, but something flickers behind his eyes.

“Mm.”

That’s it—just one hum and no words. You’d think that with how clingy he is, he would at least demand answers, stake some kind of animalistic claim. But instead, he simply shifts his hand to my jaw and brushes his thumb over my cheek.

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