Page 3 of Dragon's Flame
She’d been in an online relationship with a guy named Cliff for three months. They’d met on a The 1975 fan board and clicked instantly. She’d been upfront about her scars, and it hadn’t scared him off. In fact, he was flying up from San Diego to see her tonight—for the first time—and was staying till late tomorrow.
Which was another reason Kenna needed to finish all her organic chemistry homework ASAP.
“Please, just,” Kenna started, trying to be nice while shooing the muscled man off. He smelled like he’d recently come from a gym—half disgusting and half sheer man.
He leaned forward and deeply inhaled her in return. His nostrils flared, and for a second, she thought she saw something wild and golden flicker behind his brown eyes.
“Could I be allowed to I touch you?” he asked, his voice low and strangely formal.
Her patience had firm boundaries. “Oh, fuck no,” she said, jerking back in her chair. “Get out of here.” She pointed toward the door. “Stop being a creeper.”
He blinked, like the word didn’t compute. “What is a creeper?”
“What you are doing. By definition.”
Kenna stood, angling herself out of his path, while Sarah bolted toward the counter to get help. She jabbed a finger into his chest—it was like poking a furnace wrapped in stone—and stared up into his face. “You’ve had your fun. Move along.”
That didn’t stop him. He extended a hand, like he wanted to shake hers, and Kenna felt an inexplicable compulsion to take it, then nearly twenty-three years of ingrained stranger-danger training rose up and saved her from herself.
“I don’t know what you’re selling,” she said, clenching her hands into fists at her sides, “but we’re not buying.”
His hand dropped, and for a moment, he just stared at her. She was small, scarred, and a good foot shorter than him—she should’ve been scared of him, but she didn’t back down.
She hadn’t let herself feel fear since the fire—with all of her life goals, she didn’t have time.
“Move along,” she snapped, like he was a bad dog.
His expression crumpled. “Where?” he asked, and he wasn’t being snarky or rude, he seemed to be genuinely confused.
“Where what?”
“Where...do I go?” he asked her, with what sounded like utter honesty.
Kenna was torn between two drives: one, to be compassionate to someone who was clearly Going Through Some Things, but the other to keep living her life uninterrupted by Random Weirdos.
“The fuck if I know,” Kenna said, while still trying to sound kind.
“Hey, dude, cut it out,” said a man with a smoker’s voice from beside them. Sarah had returned with the cafe’s biggest barista,a giant with broad shoulders and a firm, no-nonsense tone. “The door’s over there. You’re scaring people, and that’s uncool.”
The muscled man stepped back, his gaze flicking between Kenna and Sarah, but it was Kenna he focused on. She swallowed, her stomach twisting.
“I will see you again,” he said. It sounded like a promise.
Sarah got up in his face like a blonde, pissed-off chihuahua. “Go fuck yourself, you fucking fucker!” she shouted and dramatically gestured for the door.
The muscled man surveyed the situation, looking dismayed. Their ranks were bolstered by yet another barista, and everyone else in the coffee shop was clearly paying all the attention Kenna had been trying to avoid when she’d gotten dressed this morning.
The man gave her one last look. “I will,” he swore, and then stalked away, his head held high.
“Ugh!” Sarah said, dropping back into her chair, and going right back to her phone.
The baristas gave Kenna aSanta-Cruz-am-I-right?shrug as she sat down much more slowly. “Americano on the house?” the taller one offered.
“Yeah, thanks.” Kenna gave both of them a tight grin as they returned to their station on the far side of the counter.
She twisted to look out the windows behind her and froze. For all the space the strange man had taken up just moments ago, he was gone. Not walking away down the street. Not getting into a car. Just...gone. Like he’d never been there at all.
“Your eloquence knows no bounds, Sarah,” Kenna said, shaking her head.
