Page 9 of Eastern Lights

“Sometimes you have to move when your soul tells you to move,” he replied.

“Which philosopher said that?”

He bit the corner of his bottom lip and shrugged. “I did.”

Impressive.

He held his hand out toward me again. “Come on. Do you trust me?”

“When people ask ‘Do you trust me?’, it instantly makes me trust them a lot less.”

“Good, as you should. I’m a complete damn stranger. Trust is earned, and I haven’t earned it. Still, I want to show you the rooftop.”

I knew it was idiotic, but still, I wanted to go.

I prayed the pepper spray in my bra wouldn’t have to be pulled out that night as I took his hand with mine. The moment our palms met, a wave of warmth shot through my system, as if holding his hand was the most natural thing I’d done in quite a while.

He pulled me through the crowded space, and every now and again, I’d look down at our connected hands. After being broken up with, you missed the small things: laughing with your other half, cuddling, holding hands.

It was funny how holding hands felt like such a small feat in the relationship, yet you missed it more than words when it was gone.

We reached a door at the back of the bar, and my red flag alert went off as I dropped my hand from his. He opened the door and we looked up at a staircase that seemed to keep going for days.

“After you,” he said, nodding toward the steps.

“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “There’s no way in hell I’m going up that staircase with my back to you. If I’m honest, that idea gives me big serial killer vibes.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Good.” He smiled, and hell, I was an idiot because a part of me trusted that smile. I supposed that was how Ted Bundy had succeeded.

What a twisted thought, Aaliyah.What was even more twisted was the fact that I knew I would go up that freaking staircase.

“I’ll go first, and I’ll get a few steps ahead of you, so you feel safer,” he said. His eyes looked at me with concern. “If you’re comfortable with that. Otherwise, we can go back and try to track down a table.”

Let me make one thing clear—I wasn’t a rebel. I didn’t break laws, I didn’t speak back to individuals who held authority, and I always offered my seat to the elderly on the subway. Yet for some reason, going up this staircase felt forbidden.

“Are we allowed to go up there?” I asked, noticing that no one else was even eyeing the staircase that seemed a bit hidden.

“Well, I am. You’ll just be my plus-one.”

“Why are you allowed to go up there?”

“I work with the man who owns this building.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

He smirked and held his hands up. “Red, if you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to go up here. Or I can try to grab Tommy and have him reassure you.”

“Who’s Tommy?”

“The owner of the bar.”

“You work with him?”

“No. Tommy doesn’t own the building, but he works with the investor, who works with me.”

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