Lost Boy - Ker Dukey Page 0,20

got bored of seeing your naked ass.”

“That’s doubtful.” She smirks.

“I have to get ready for work,” I groan, gulping my coffee and shuffling back to my room to get clothes on.

Everyone is on edge. An eerie unsettled atmosphere hangs heavy in the air. The shop is less busy today, and those who do come in don’t stay.

Goosebumps rise over my skin as I navigate around the shop. A silhouette standing in the window causes my heart to spike. Condensation mists the window, keeping him hidden from me. My heart thuds. When they don’t move, I march to the door, pull it open, and look out. Embarrassment eats at me when a man stares over his shoulder at me as he waits for his dog to finish doing his business. Anxious, I go to the restroom and splash water on my face. Get a grip. The stall door bursts open, making me jump. A woman eyeballs me. “You okay?” She raises a thin, drawn-on eyebrow.

“I’m fine.” Are you? I dry my hands and go back to work. This day needs to be over.

The overhead bell rings, and the ambiance appears to shift. A pull inside me tugs my head up. Blood rushes in my veins, making the room spin. You. Half his face is covered by a heavy beard, hiding him from me, but I watch, transfixed, as his tongue darts out to lick over his fat bottom lip. A sense of déjà vu envelops me, warming me all over.

“Excuse her,” Charlotte sings, appearing from the backroom before nudging me with her hip to move over. “What can I get you?”

My heart is racing. My palms are sweating. He’s looking at me like he knows me—like he’s been inside my skin and lived there. His intensity is vaguely familiar, a memory I can’t quite grasp. “Do you want to get a room?” Charlotte snorts, pointing between us. I realize he hasn’t answered her and we’re just standing here staring at each other. My cheeks heat. I shake my head to clear the haze.

“Um…sorry, did you want to order?” I ask, a hitch in my voice.

“Espresso. Double shot.” He smiles tightly, making my womb squeeze.

“Why don’t you take a seat and she’ll bring it over?” Charlotte offers. He keeps his eyes trained on me for a few more seconds, then moves toward the back of the shop where he takes a seat in the corner booth. “What the hell was that?” Charlotte breathes, fanning herself with a spare napkin.

“That was weird, right?” I question, feeling a nervous flutter dance through my body.

“Well, you’re weird, so...” She shrugs, pressing the button on the espresso machine.

The entire shop appears to shrink around me as I make my way to the back where Green Eyes is sitting. He’s watching me. Every step matches the marching of my heartbeat.

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

The atmosphere thickens, threatening to suffocate me as I come to a stop at his table. His large frame makes the booth look like children’s furniture, his broad shoulders filling the jacket he’s wearing perfectly. Strong, powerful.

“Espresso?” I say meekly, placing it on the table in front of him. My heart beats with alarm about to crash through my chest and land on the table with a splat.

“Thank you.” His voice washes through me, caressing all the right places. His brow furrows when he flits his eyes over the front page of the paper he’s holding. My eyes drop to see Abigail’s face taking up almost the entire page.

College Student Slain.

My stomach knots. “You kinda look like her.” He says in a deep, rumbling tone, his lids drooping a little as he studies me.

“I knew her,” I softly murmur. I’ve never really thought about our similarities. Long hair, delicate features, same age—thud—same class—thud.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds so sincere, like he’s speaking to a family member of hers.

My cheeks burn. “We weren’t really friends.” I should go back to work, but it’s too late. My butt is already brushing the seat opposite him. Taking a second to really look at him, I notice a small scattering of freckles across his nose. They remind me of the constellation Aquila, the eagle who carried Zeus’s thunderbolts. His eyes are intense and stormy. Deep forest green with flecks of brown like the leaves on the cusp of autumn. They appear to absorb the light and almost glow. Beautiful.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks, wiping his hand across his mouth, and I realize I’ve been staring at him without speaking.

“Do I