Lost Boy

“And is that what you want? To just be her friend?”

“Yes!” he bellows, causing a scene.

“That’s enough.” I step in, narrowing my eyes at them. I sense the wall of Clark behind me before Stephan and Charlotte look over my head at him.

“You okay, Liz?” His tone is so cold with warning, sending a blast up my spine. His hands clasp my upper arms, sliding down to my wrists.

“Who the fuck is this? You said you didn’t know him,” Stephan scoffs.

“Oh, she knows him,” Charlotte teases, flicking her tongue up to her top lip.

Hastily turning, I disengage his grip and place a hand on his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath my palm. “I’m fine. It’s fine, honestly.” It takes a few seconds for him to tear his gaze from Stephan. Nodding, he steps back. Taking my wrist, he turns my palm up and places a piece of paper on it. “Call me when you’re ready for that date.”

Butterflies set loose inside me.

“I will.” I watch as he leaves, turning his head once more before fleeing through the door.

“That there, is your competition,” Charlotte mocks with a snide chuckle.

“Fuck off, whore,” Stephan sneers before holding my eyes. “You don’t feed into the crap she spews, right?”

“Of course not. I know we’re just friends.” I reach out, squeezing his arm.

“So, who is he?”

“Our neighbor and Lizzy’s kissing friend,” Charlotte says, continuing to stir the pot. “And if I had to choose between…” She wiggles her finger at Stephan and the door where Clark left.

Grabbing her finger, I growl, “Stop.”

“Do I look like I struggle to get women?” Stephan snorts. “I don’t have competition because I’m not a child, I’m a grown fucking man. Now, make yourself useful and bring over some coffee.” He picks up his books and marches over to a booth.

Smirking, I shrug a shoulder. “You just got told.”

“Oh, fuck off. He’s a dick.”EighteenFlexing my hand, I close my textbook and yawn. The shop’s been quiet, giving me plenty of study time. Charlotte and Stephan left over an hour ago, and Jeff just got back after taking off at lunch.

“We’re closing early,” he informs me. I want to ask why, but this never happens, and my feet are a little sore from being on them all day. I rush over to a table that still has a tray of dirty cups on it. “Lizzy,” Jeff barks, and I startle from his tone, “just leave it.” Pushing my books into my arms, he ushers me toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be here for delivery,” he tells me, locking himself inside.

Good night to you too, asshole.

It’s dark and cold. I hurry to put my coat on and check my cell. I can’t call Stephan for a ride. Besides, it’s bullshit to make him come back here when I can just walk it. It’s not far.

A couple of cars pass me. Once their headlights fade, the darkness of the night creeps over me, making every hair follicle stand on end. My cell phone rings, and my heart almost stops. Charlotte. A slither of disappointment washes through me that it’s not Clark, even though I didn’t give him my number.

“Hello?” Moans greet me back. “Hello?” I try again. She butt dialed me while getting laid. Gross. I end the call. My feet pick up speed until I’m practically jogging. I hate this tense feeling and fear of walking around by myself. We shouldn’t have to go through this. The monsters committing horrible crimes are collecting more victims than the ones they’re targeting. I’m just about to slip inside when a food delivery guy calls out for me to wait. He hands me a pizza and saunters off.

“Hey, jerk, this isn’t for me,” I call out, but he’s already stuffed his earbuds back in, ignoring me.

Checking the name on the pizza, my stomach flip-flops. Clark. I suppose I better take it up to him.

Nerves flutter as I ascend the stairs to his apartment. Rapping my knuckles on the door, I hear his movements.

He opens it a sliver and peers out, his eyes suspicious. Recognition dawns on him, and his eyes widen. “Hey.” I give a half-smile and hold up his pizza. “The delivery guy doesn’t want tips apparently.”

Looking behind him, his forehead creases, but he opens the door, filling the gap with his frame. He holds out his hands. “Sorry about that. Thanks for doing his job.”

I place the pizza box in his upturned palms, feeling a little awkward. A couple moments pass before he says, “You hungry?” He lifts his brow. “And do you like pizza?” he adds, twisting his lips.

A smile touches my face, lightening the somber mood I’ve been living in. “As long as it doesn’t have pineapple on it,” I fire back.

“Are you trying to steal my heart?”