Dark Child (Wild Men 5)

“Hope is too hard, Cos. I’m afraid to hope.” She takes a few deep breaths. “Anyway, hey… Thanks for having my back.”

“Always.”

“Is everything…? Is the cat okay?”

“Kitty’s fine. What’s her name?”

“I never gave her a name. Listen, Cos, I won’t make it back before the end of the week. Think you can stay until then?”

“Sure.” I think of having coffee with Merc tomorrow, and my traitorous body tightens with desire. “No problem.”

Despite what Lin just reminded me, what I promised myself, what a hunk like Merc usually does to girls like me—like, break my heart and leave without a backward glance, just like Steve did.

“I made mistakes,” she says, as if listening in to my thoughts, “many mistakes, Cos. Don’t do what I did. If you want something, or somebody, go for it. Tell them, hold them. Show them.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. Though that seems to be my number one mistake, most of the time: going all in and then gathering my pieces from the floor. “Love you, sis. Take care, and see you soon.”

Her only mistake, the one I know about, was leaving her then boyfriend, Griffin, two years ago, when he’s the one she’s always wanted. No matter what she says, what she believes, she never made my mistakes, my stupid, childish mistakes, time after time.

She deserves so much better. She deserves to be happy.

The least I can do is help her find her way.

One of us should.

The conversation with Lin stays with me, though, and I can’t stop thinking about it the next day. About staying away from pretty boys with eyes like a summer sky and arms that look like they can bend steel.

Away from Merc.

I’ve in fact made up my mind not to show up at the coffee shop in the afternoon. It’s not set in stone, after all, not a date, and we didn’t even exchange phone numbers or anything. For him it may be all fun and games. Seduce the stupid girl who’s drooling after him, maybe snap a picture or two, post on social media and have a good laugh with his friends.

Haven’t I been down that road before? I should never have talked to him, never accepted to go out with him—even for a coffee. What was I thinking?

But he was funny, my mind protests. He was nice. I had fun with him.

As I pass near the diner, at about the time we had coffee yesterday, I hesitate. On a whim, I approach. Work is done for the day, and what I want is to lie on the sofa with a good book, the TV playing some nonsense show.

Or maybe what I really want is to see Merc, because when I spot him at the entrance of the diner, my heart does a backflip.

Is it him?

Approaching stealthily, I make out his face, and my heart keeps performing those strange little flips and flicks, like a drunken bird.

He’s wearing a dark gray hoodie unzipped at the front that molds to his strong upper body and shows off his trim waist and narrow hips. His blond hair is not spiky today but falling soft and shiny in his eyes. His T-shirt is a riot of colors with a skull grinning in the middle.

He’s reading something on his phone, brows pulled together, the other gripping the back of his neck like he wants to strangle himself.

Not as relaxed as I thought at first. Tension radiates off him in waves.

Then he glances up, as if sensing me watching him, and… the tension melts away. A smile spreads on his face, and oh boy... That’s it, I’m done, stick a fork in me.

An invisible string pulls me toward him, toward that smile, and I’m reeled in, offering no resistance.

“There you are,” I whisper, my mouth doing its own thing, not asking me for instructions.

“I came early. I was waiting for you.”

When he reaches for my hand, catches it and pulls me closer, there’s a pinprick of fire in my chest that spreads to my neck and scorches my face, that makes me feel dizzy with joy and hot with desire.