Page 49 of You Can't Fight Lightning
Which meant he’d been asking.
Crazy.
Fucking.
Stalker.
I gunned the bike, concentrating on the shaft of light on the road in front of me. It was nearly dark now, and I didn’t like being on these twisty roads in the Mule Mountains once it was fully dark, but I damn sure wasn’t ready to go home.
The wind needed to be rushing by me. I needed to feel the night air.
Or I was going to explode.
Worse, I’d started to allow myself to feel for him, to trust him.
And then he ruined it.
I pulled over to the side of the road, not just to turn around and head back to town, but to take off my helmet, give myself time to breathe.
The smell of the desert at night, the sounds of the animals around me—I could hear bats swooping—calmed me.
This just reinforced my ideas of why it was better to be single. I’d been reading about a woman movie star recently. She’d been asked why she never married, and her answer was simple. “I don’t want anyone in my house.”
That right there, that was me. I didn’t want anyone in my emotional house. I wanted to be safe, with a barrier between me and everyone else. That way, I wouldn’t have to deal with anyone else.
I would be safe.
Slowly, I drove home, trying not to think, not to let the tears fall down my face. Damn it. I knew I should have told him to keep on walking. To move along. That I wasn’t the woman he was looking for.
Not even close.
When I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment, I felt as though I’d run a marathon. Not that I’d ever run a marathon, but I imagined they felt as worn and tired as I did now. I made the turn to pull into where I normally parked, but there was someone else in my space.
Z.
He sat on his bike, the cream of the paint on the gas tank glowing suddenly in the darkness. How had I missed him?
“Please leave.”
He was off his bike faster than I expected, and he came toward me, stopping about three feet away. “Roxy, I want to apologize.”
“You might as well tell whoever told you about me to fess up. I don’t appreciate my friends gossiping about me. And I’ll find out anyway, and light them up.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. That was odd. It wasn’t supposed to rain.
“None of your friends told me about you. Everyone seems to know.” He stopped, and looked down at his hands. “They all said it’s your story to tell.”
“Then how the hell do you know what you think I worry about?”
Z shoved his hands into his pockets, a classic sign of discomfort worldwide. And a classic sign of bullshit to come. “Someone did tell me, but not who you think. In fact, it’s no one that you’d think of.”
“You are not making sense. Did you have a couple of shots before you came over here? Trying to build up your courage? It’s not going to work, Z.” I felt the red haze that had dissipated with my night ride building again.
“I know about your past because I’m a god.”
I burst out laughing even as I was surprised. I mean, I’m a bartender. I heard all kinds of ridiculous shit on a daily basis. This, however, took the cake.
“You’re god? Holy hell, you think a lot of yourself.”
