“Evan?” I frown, trying to remember what happened last night.
As soon as it all crashes down on me, I start to breathe heavier, faster, my chest dancing to the beat of a frantic drum as I try to move off him as fast as I can.
I told him. I told him what happened. The cut-down version anyway.
I shake my head, not wanting to go there, not right here, not right now.
“Lex?”
“I… I have to go,” I say, scrambling off him fully.
“I’ll take you,” he says, lifting up off the sofa and heading into the bathroom. “Give me five minutes.”
I nod slowly, my mind not really here as I hear the pipes groan and then water hitting tiles. Waving my hand in front of my face to try and cool my heated cheeks, I step toward the front door, opening it and walking down two of the steps before I sit down, watching the sun peek over the top of the trees that surround the whole compound.
It doesn’t matter what I try to think about to get my mind off what I told Evan last night, nothing works.
Lowering my head, I clasp my hands on either side, willing the memories to slide away.
“Give me her damn pills!” My throat burns from screaming at Joe, the pharmacist, who told me only moments ago that he wasn’t going to give me any medication until he sees some money.
My arm reels back, the softball bat that I hold—ready for the practice I was on my way to—slams along a shelf behind me, knocking several bottles of medicine off, crashing as they hit the floor making me jump.
“Give them to me! She needs them!”
He holds his hands in the air, his face paling before he reaches up, throwing a bag at me and begging me to leave.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice softer now but still with an edge to it as I back out of the shop and spin around b
efore I get to the door, pushing it open and clutching the pills to my chest.
“Hey!” My head snaps up at the deep voice, the police badge and the vest the man in front of me is wearing blinds me as I swing my bat on instinct, catching him in the temple and causing him to go down fast.
I stare in shock as he starts to bleed, groaning as he moves on the ground. My legs give out, landing in the blood as I start to chant that I’m sorry.
I lift my hands, staring at the sticky red blood that coats my palms. My breath catches in my throat. I can’t run no matter how much my mind screams at me to: it’s as if I’m stuck in quicksand, sinking with no way to get out.
“Lex?”
I jump at the voice, standing up and spinning around. “H-hey.” I push a smile on my face, connecting my gaze to Evan’s as he closes the door behind him.
His brown hair is still wet from his shower, the scent of his body wash—black pepper and sandalwood—wafting around us, cocooning us.
My gaze drifts down to his shirt, reading the slogan and laughing out loud.
“Love the shirt.” I grin.
His hand drifts across the writing “Zombies Hate Fast Food” with figures of people running away.
“Thanks.” He smiles, a genuine kind of smile before he jogs down the steps, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer. “I have to run into the warehouse real quick before I take you home.”
“Okay,” I whisper, my gaze flitting from his lips and back up to his honey eyes, watching as the gold flecks sparkle against the morning sun.
“If I could wake up next to you every morning, I don’t think life could get any more perfect.” Heat rises up my cheeks and I dip my head. “Hey…” His thumb and finger capture my chin, bringing my gaze back up to his. “Remember what I said: never hide away from me.”
I swallow at the intense look in his eyes before nodding and lifting up onto my tiptoes, moving my face closer to his. He sees what I’m silently saying and meets me halfway, capturing my lips.
His tongue dips into my mouth, not asking or begging for entrance but taking like it’s his to take. Which it is. I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my entire life. And yeah, okay, so I haven’t had much adult life outside of the concrete walls and barbed wire of a prison, but I know what I’m feeling—this all-consuming need to talk to him, to be near him, to touch him—I know that this doesn’t happen often.