Dead Pretty - Samantha Towle Page 0,17

he said them, and it makes me feel flustered. And hot.

I take another sip of my coffee.

“So, you’re out of the military. What are you doing now? Aside from sitting around in libraries and coffee shops.” I smile so that he knows I am teasing.

“Writing. I’m an author. I’ve been doing it for years, even while I was still in the military.”

He’s an author. Makes sense why he was spending so much time in the library. Probably doing research for his next book.

“Wow. A real-life author.”

I see a slight blush on the tops of his cheekbones. I find myself thinking it’s adorable, and then I want to slap myself.

And I also might work in a library, but I have never actually met an author. Well, not that I know of. It’s not like I actively try to get to know people. Avoiding people is my specialty. And yet, here I am, chatting with Jack.

“I’m assuming you’re published?”

He nods.

“Would I have heard of you?”

Something dark flashes through his eyes. “Probably not.” He lets out a laugh that sounds self-deprecating and out of odds with the expression I just saw in his eyes.

“Hey, I work in a library. I’ve read a lot of authors. What genre do you write?”

“Crime.”

And a chill cuts into the warmth that he unknowingly placed in my chest.

I sit back in my seat, hands curling around my coffee cup. “Crime books aren’t my thing. But I might have seen your name while I was filing books away. What’s your pen name?”

“Jack Canti.”

Jack Canti. Can a name be sexy? Yes. Yes, it can.

“Jack Canti,” I echo my thoughts. “So, is Jack Canti your real name or a pseudo name?”

I know that authors who have pseudo names will sometimes use them in real life with people they don’t know.

“Real,” he answers slowly.

“Then, nope, I haven’t heard of you.”

I smile, and he laughs.

I find myself loving the sound of it. I like being the one who made him laugh.

“But I am definitely going to look you up when I get back to the library.”

“You’re on your lunch break right now?” he asks me.

“Yep. And I should be heading back,” I say, glancing at the clock on the wall. I’ve hardly even touched the bagel. I pick it up and quickly finish it off before swigging down the rest of my coffee. “Sorry to rush off,” I tell him.

“No problem.”

He’s watching me with those intense eyes and smiling at me, and it makes me feel flustered again.

“And thanks again for the coffee and bagel,” I tell him, getting out of my seat.

He answers by way of a shrug.

“So, I guess I’ll see you …” I say, letting the words hang.

I’m hesitating. Stalling leaving. And I don’t know why.

Maybe it’s because you don’t know when you’ll see Jack next, whispers my subconscious.

Nope. I might find the guy hot, but I’m not hanging out, waiting to hear when I will see him next.

I don’t do people. I don’t do friends.

Yet isn’t that what Jack is to me now … a friend?

Ugh.

I really need to get out of here. Now.

“So, yeah … bye.”

“See you tomorrow, Audrey,” he says, his words catching my back, turning me around again.

“Tomorrow?” I question.

A smile lifts his eyes. “At the library.” He says this like I should have already known the answer.

And I hate that my heart is doing a happy dance in my chest right now.

So, I conceal my feelings and act casual and shrug. “Sure. See you tomorrow.”

And I turn and walk out of the coffee shop, unable to keep the smile off my face, thanking God that Jack can’t see it.

“Thanks.” I pay the cab driver, exiting the car.

Palming the building’s security fob and my apartment keys in one hand, my rape alarm in the other, I walk quickly toward the entrance to my apartment building, hearing the cab drive away behind me.

I don’t usually like to take cabs. Getting in a car with someone I don’t know is not exactly my favorite thing to do.

But it was either that or walk home in the dark.

I ended up working late, covering for a member of the staff who had called in sick today and monitoring a book club that met tonight at the library. So, I said that I would stay while they were there and locked up after they left.

Hence the cab ride home.

And at least a cab driver is registered. So, if I were killed, there would be a good chance of catching him.

If I