Page 83 of Bound to a Killer
An embarrassing thump fires off in my chest when I remember yesterday, the clicks, photos snapping while I could barely see past the thick coat of paint I was drenched in. Ihaven’t checked social media since then, avoiding the fallout. I’m sure he’s seen the pictures circulating, but he doesn’t mention it.
“Oh, well,” I stumble, grasping for something to say. “I’ve just been a little under the weather, but I’m okay.”
I channel my nervous energy into stacking the chairs onto the tables, only to stub my toe as I rush around the corner. I wince, letting my hair fall forward as I reach for the nearest chair. God, I’m so embarrassing.
“Here, let me help,” he says, grabbing a chair beside him and starting to stack it.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay. I want to.” He smiles again, a mischievous glint to his eyes. It’s almost like he’s enjoying how frazzled I am under his stare. If Clara set him up to this, I swear I’m going to kill her.
“Thanks,” I mumble, my chin tucked to my chest. We fall into a brief silence as we finish stacking all the chairs on the floor. Thankfully, Becca isn’t opening tomorrow morning, so the sticky tabletops and crumb-scattered floors will be someone else’s problem.
Once I close the register, I swing my backpack over one shoulder and follow him out, locking up the shop behind us. The evening breeze is colder than it was earlier this afternoon, the sky now more gray than gold as clouds roll in across the sun.
He scans the parking lot with a frown, probably trying to figure out where I parked. His navy Civic is the only car in sight.
“Did you walk here?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Concern knits his brows, and already my skin tingles, dreading the obvious look of pity that flickers across his face.
“Anyways, thanks for stopping by,” I say quickly, alreadyshifting my bag higher on my shoulder as I turn toward the sidewalk.
“Hold on a sec,” he calls after me, falling into step beside me. “I can give you a lift.”
Here we go.
I glance at him, slowing but not stopping. “Jayce, I appreciate you checking on me, but I don’t want to trouble you. I live, like, five minutes away.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” he says, flashing a wicked grin that half the school would’ve fawned over.
Oh, but he is. Trouble.
I keep walking, finger fidgeting with the collar of the linen shirt I snagged from Clara’s closet, the front knotted so the hem sits higher over my leggings.
Above, the sky darkens, and a light drizzle begins to fall, tiny droplets plopping over our heads.
“Look, it’s raining. Seriously, let me drop you off.”
We’ve just turned the corner. The early spring breeze plucks at my hair, whipping the strands across my face. “It’s fine, really. You can go back.”
I mostly expect him to drop it here and head back to his car now that it’s raining, but he keeps walking beside me, apparently making peace with the fact that I’m not turning back.
“So,” he begins slowly, almost hesitant. “Are you going with anyone to prom this Saturday?”
My heart takes flight. Of course, I already knew what he was about to ask next, and it made me feel unreasonably tense. I shake my head.
A grin tugs at his lips. “Would you want to go together?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“We can go just as friends,” he says, his eyes flicking down to my lips, right where my teeth have been scraping without me noticing.
I swallow hard, something rough clawing in the back of my throat. “Yeah, maybe,” I offer, letting the conversation trail off.
We make it to my driveway. The light drizzle has soaked through my white shirt, turning it slightly transparent and exposing my pink bra underneath.
