Haze - By Andrea Wolfe Page 0,37

you say, Effie. I'm just glad you're okay. If he would have messed up that pretty little face of yours, I might have—"

I shot him an incredulous look. "You might have what? You really don't need to act like a tough guy around me."

"Yeah, I don't know what I would have done. I'm supposed to be a pacifist, and I just punched your ex in the gut. I'm such a hypocrite."

"My hypocrite," I said in place of the more common hero.

We stayed there together—Jack kneeling on the floor, me on the chair—until it had probably become awkward to watch. "C'mon," Jack finally said. "Let's go back to my place. I'll cook you something."

"Okay." After what had happened, it sounded perfect.

***

People had already forgotten about us by the time we finally left the coffee shop. This wasn't like the small towns of my past where this sort of event might have actually made the front page of the newspaper—this was New York City. Everything moved at light speed. The slate was clean almost before we had finished writing on it.

If it wasn't a terrorist attack or major natural disaster, the city had definitely seen more exciting things.

When we got back into his apartment, I collapsed on the couch and Jack climbed on top of me. His weight was incredibly comforting. I sunk into the cushions, surrounded by soft pillows and his body. He kissed me slowly, purposefully and gently, tickling my tongue with his own.

The warm gesture stopped abruptly. "God, I was so worried today." His expression was tense, vacant.

"I'm just glad you were there, you stalker." I smiled at him and kissed his stubble-covered cheek. "Where were you sitting?"

"I was just around the opposite corner. I snuck in after you started talking to him. Something told me I just had to." I was watching his mind wrestle with the day's events, his facial muscles displaying the score. I hoped he was winning.

"I didn't see you at all." I guess I had been just too entranced by Timothy's whirlwind insanity. It was like staring at a car crash or something.

"I really was worried, Effie. I don't know what I'd do if I’d lost you in there, if he’d really hurt you or something. I couldn't live with it, especially not if it was my fault." His words were so big, so meaningful, expressing concepts that I could barely grasp at this point in the day.

I couldn't understand why I was coping with the situation so much better than he was. I mean, I was the one that had been under attack, not him. We hadn't even been seeing each other that long. And it all turned out okay in the end, thanks entirely to his unexpected intervention.

Now we were in the apartment together safe and sound, relaxing and having a good time. Trouble was behind us.

Questions popped into my head, going off like a chain of firecrackers. Were we moving too fast or something? Had I gauged him wrong? No matter what I tried to convince myself of, I just couldn't get past his authenticity—something appeared to lie beyond his surface, something significant that he was keeping from me. I immediately knew that it was that something that was weighing so heavily upon his conscience.

I held him tightly, clutching his body for dear life as we both silently sorted through our own emotional baggage. I had exhausted my vocabulary and been reduced to thoughts only.

In a way, I didn't want him to care about me so much. I didn't feel worthy of that sort of consideration. I frequently had those feelings of inadequacy, those erratic impulses that said you're not good enough for anyone. At my worst, I sometimes found myself feeling pathetic and used up, as if I had already passed my prime and was ready to be discarded.

Jack was rich and successful, with looks that matched or exceeded his success—and he had anything and everything he wanted. Today was just him being a Good Samaritan, that was all. I just got lucky. Somebody else would have come to my rescue if he hadn't. I was getting carried away if I assumed anything other than that.

But no matter how hard I fought, my mind kept returning to one thought, the impossible, the unimaginable, the unfathomable—maybe he really did care about me...

Chapter 7

Once we started moving around again, Jack made us steaks and a huge Cobb salad, one comprised of some of the freshest greens I'd ever eaten. I swear the