used to snapping at the people beneath him.
Gazing back up, I see that he is still watching me, a single brow arched as if waiting for me to apologize, or thank him, or something.
“I’m having a bad day,” I finally say.
“It doesn’t give you an excuse not to pay attention to your surroundings. You never know what’s going on around you.”
He says this like he knows me, like he’s complaining. And, even though he isn’t wrong to assume I am oblivious ninety-nine percent of the time, it still angers me that he thinks he can lecture me like a child.
“You don’t know me.”
His mouth twitches, the corner of his lips curling as if this whole thing is funny. “Am I wrong?”
No. But I won’t admit it.
Not that I have to. His lips curl more, his eyes pinning mine with the knowledge that he’s called it perfectly.
“I didn’t think so,” he says, his words soft as if speaking to himself instead of me.
His eyes move to scan the sidewalk, tipping up to glance at the sky.
It is an overcast day, the clouds heavy with rain, wind blowing the branches of the trees lining the streets, dried leaves shuffling down the sidewalk to be crushed underfoot by the people milling about.
I should walk away. Should tell him I have places to be that are more pleasant than his grumpy ass, but I stand in place, studying him.
The man has black hair, so dark it is missing the common blue undertones. His hair is more like a void, a place where color can’t exist, where light is swallowed. It isn’t short, but not long either. A perfect cut for his face, the type you can run your hands through. It draws the eye to his features.
What beautiful features they are, all sharp angles and strong jaw. There is a stark quality in the lines of it. Nothing soft or pliable. I have an overwhelming urge to run my palm along the scruff of his cheek just to know if it’s as rough as it looks.
And his mouth. No matter how he holds it, I see cruelty in those lips, the kind that forces tears from your eyes or makes you scream.
I regret leaving my camera in the car. My fingers itch for the shutter button. I want to photograph his face just like it is. A candid shot when he isn’t looking at me, but is instead viewing the world around him.
He doesn’t miss a thing. I’m not sure why I know that, I just do.
Grey eyes flick back to me, and I jump in surprise, feeling busted for staring.
“Why are you having a bad day?”
I don’t want to answer him, thinking he might lecture me for being careless. Oddly, I find my lips parting, honesty pouring out of me because I can’t hide anything. Not from him.
“My car was towed. It had my phone and purse inside it. I’m stuck here with no way to get home.”
Lightning shoots across the sky, the crack of it a flash in his eyes as if his anger conjured it. But then the sky opens, a curtain of rain finally pouring to flood the sidewalk and street.
People run, some diving into stores and other businesses to escape the downpour. Others rush to climb in their cars. The man grabs my arm and drags me to a small covered doorway, the space barely big enough for both of us to fit, my clothes already soaked by the time we reach it.
He turns to face me since we can’t stand side by side and both be under the awning, his arm braced against the door above my head, his chest too close to my face. I crane my neck to look up at him, the rain so thick it feels like only he and I exist in the world at that moment.
My teeth lock on my bottom lip, and his gaze drops down to my mouth, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes.
I make the mistake of breathing, as if that can be called a mistake, but it is around him. He smells so incredibly good, his scent intoxicating, yet familiar in some way I can’t understand.
“I’m getting engaged,” I blurt, unsure why I say that, why it sounds like a confession ... or a plea.
For what?
The lapel of his jacket brushes my cheek. I shiver in place, telling myself it’s the chill of being soaked and not his proximity.
His lips part, eyes searching my face as if