Page 4 of One Killer Night
But still, we stand in silence, the Walgreens store playlist becoming our meet-cute score as our eyes stay indecently locked, just staring at each other, me on bated breath.
One blink. Two. Three.
Is that “These Dreams,” by Heart? What in the eighties is going on here? Maybe I am actually hallucinating, and the universe is trying to clue me in.
He tilts his head, his blue eyes seductively shy, like a modern-day James Dean, dropping them away before meeting mine again. “Good news. It’s not broken.”
“Not broken is definitely good ... great, even—”
I exhale quietly, trying to regain my cool, but his eyes stay locked on me, making me feel like when I was thirteen and saw Jesse McCartney for the first time.
That was my sexual awakening. Now, I’m thirty and wide awake. So, so awake. Insomnia-level awake.
He bites the inside of his lip, right at the corner, with just his canines, before he extends my phone and hits me with a full-watt smile.
And RIP to any common sense I had for my personal safety.
If this man wanted me to come see the kitten in his basement, I’d turn off my location and follow him there. Right now. Good god, he’s gorgeous.
I reach to take it from his palm, but his eyes dart to my hand.
“Three fingers were problematic before, so maybe ...” He trails off.
“Huh?” I look at my hand, realizing I’m still wearing the costume thing over it. “Oh yeah. You saw that? Awesome.”
With an embarrassed huff of a laugh, I hurriedly tug off the hand covering with my teeth, shove the fabric back out of my mouth using my tongue, and let it fall to the ground.
But he catches it. Fuck. Why was that so hot?
I need to get it together. I’m acting like I’ve never seen a living man ... albeit the most beautiful one ever to exist.Still, stop it, Goldie.
“Are you gonna make me do this all night?” he whispers conspiratorially, leaning in toward me and giving me my first dose of goose bumps. “I mean, I’m free, but ...”
My nervous smile seems to cut him off because he stops talking and smiles back.
“No ...” I reach out and take back my phone and costume piece, hoping for flirtatious and not weird. “Thank you ... Noah, not Damon.”
“My pleasure ...” He pauses, sliding a hand over his jaw before hooking it around the back of his neck. His eyebrows rise, and I realize he’s pausing slash asking for my name.
“Goldie,” I rush out, uncaring if I seem too eager.
“Goldie ...” he repeats to himself like he’s trying it on for size. “I like that. So then, I guess it’s my pleasure, Goldie.”
He likes my name, so much so that he’s said it twice. I’m cooked.
I grin, feeling my cheeks burn, our eyes still deliciously locked on each other like there’s no choice in the matter.
You know in books when they say the air crackles between two characters? Well, we’re a fucking bowl of cereal. Snap, crackle, and poppin’ everywhere and all over the place.
Ask me for my number, ask me for my number.
Noah lifts his chin like he’s going to say something, making my pulse stall, sprint, and stutter. His lips part as he reaches for his back pocket, his eyes still burning into mine with a glint of amusement or bewilderment. I can’t tell.
All I know is that they’re like two crystal-blue lakes that feel deep and inviting.
God, this eye contact is so intense that I should consider purchasing a pregnancy test along with my sister’s blood. Oh shit. Evie!
“Crap. My sister! She needs blood.”
