Read Online Diaries of an Urban Panther by Amanda Arista - Free Book Online
Authors: Amanda Arista
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dash for the stairs. I needed fresh air. Needed to breathe. I clutched at my chest and flew past the ushers and the ticket takers and threw open the double doors, stumbling out into the night.
Leaning against the white stone front of the performance hall, I gulped down the cool air and tried to catch up with the thoughts racing around in my head. The copper taste of fear filled my mouth and ran like ice water through my veins. I could have sworn my shoulder began to burn against the cool stone. This was real.
And then I smelled it, smelled him. You don’t forget the smell of a man, at least I don’t. Sometimes a guy will walk past wearing the same cologne as my ex and I’m thrown back to all those unhappy days in LA.
So I knew this smell and looked up and down the darkened streets of downtown Fort Worth to find Chaz. I closed my eyes and took in a calmer breath and knew it was him, it was warm and musky and athletic and very close by.
I reached into my purse and scrolled through my received numbers to find his.
He answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?” I snapped, the panic replaced by paranoia.
I saw the slightest movement out of the corner of my eye. He was a block down, standing just out of the light of a street lamp. He stayed in the shadows but I could see his face from the glow of his cell phone.
“So is this what I’m going to be cursed with, a perverse sense of smell?”
“What?”
“I can smell you.”
“I must be a block away,” he said confused.
“Then maybe you need to take a shower.”
“Are you okay?” But the question didn’t come from the phone. It came from over my shoulder. Devin’s hand slid around my waist, as if protecting me from unseen threat. He looked up and down the street with a viciously raised eye brow.
I watched as Chaz snapped his phone closed and slid back into the shadows down the street.
I turned towards Devin. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been doing a lot of apologizing this evening,” he said looking down at me with concerned brown eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you want me to take you home?”
I shook my head and allowed myself to be guided back into the warm interior of the theatre. Even though the opera was beautiful and might have elicited a tear, I still couldn’t shake the chill up my spine that this was real, and Chaz had followed me across a county to make sure that I was safe.
M y stalker didn’t call on Sunday, which was understandable. I wouldn’t have called me back. I would have let me rot and gone on to my next holy mission or whatever he was on.
I was sitting in my favorite coffee shop Monday afternoon, reading the latest movie magazine without my glasses in the streaming sun of the front window. My feet were curled up under me as I sipped the cinnamon latté. It had taken me all night and a very hot shower the next morning to get warm again after the chill of last night’s panic attack. But I got up, convinced myself I wasn’t going to die today, a new daily ritual, and forced myself out of the house.
Suddenly, I was overcome with his scent again. I looked around and watched as he sauntered across the café and sat in the seat opposite of me. He was in a long-sleeved green buttoned-down shirt, the black leather jacket nowhere in sight. He looked almost naked without it.
I didn’t exactly know what to say. He sat across the coffee table from me, very relaxed, looking very unsuspicious. Very “nothing to see here people, just a man talking to a girl. Move along.”
“Was that your boyfriend?” he said, looking down at the table between us, strewn with the magazines I’d flipped through that morning.
“I thought you’d been watching me for the past two months.”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen you have dinner with him, go to the opera.”
He looked up at me with wide puppy dog eyes, searching for an answer.
I shook my head. “Devin’s a good friend.”
Something flashed across those warm eyes. “How are you
Leaning against the white stone front of the performance hall, I gulped down the cool air and tried to catch up with the thoughts racing around in my head. The copper taste of fear filled my mouth and ran like ice water through my veins. I could have sworn my shoulder began to burn against the cool stone. This was real.
And then I smelled it, smelled him. You don’t forget the smell of a man, at least I don’t. Sometimes a guy will walk past wearing the same cologne as my ex and I’m thrown back to all those unhappy days in LA.
So I knew this smell and looked up and down the darkened streets of downtown Fort Worth to find Chaz. I closed my eyes and took in a calmer breath and knew it was him, it was warm and musky and athletic and very close by.
I reached into my purse and scrolled through my received numbers to find his.
He answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?” I snapped, the panic replaced by paranoia.
I saw the slightest movement out of the corner of my eye. He was a block down, standing just out of the light of a street lamp. He stayed in the shadows but I could see his face from the glow of his cell phone.
“So is this what I’m going to be cursed with, a perverse sense of smell?”
“What?”
“I can smell you.”
“I must be a block away,” he said confused.
“Then maybe you need to take a shower.”
“Are you okay?” But the question didn’t come from the phone. It came from over my shoulder. Devin’s hand slid around my waist, as if protecting me from unseen threat. He looked up and down the street with a viciously raised eye brow.
I watched as Chaz snapped his phone closed and slid back into the shadows down the street.
I turned towards Devin. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been doing a lot of apologizing this evening,” he said looking down at me with concerned brown eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you want me to take you home?”
I shook my head and allowed myself to be guided back into the warm interior of the theatre. Even though the opera was beautiful and might have elicited a tear, I still couldn’t shake the chill up my spine that this was real, and Chaz had followed me across a county to make sure that I was safe.
M y stalker didn’t call on Sunday, which was understandable. I wouldn’t have called me back. I would have let me rot and gone on to my next holy mission or whatever he was on.
I was sitting in my favorite coffee shop Monday afternoon, reading the latest movie magazine without my glasses in the streaming sun of the front window. My feet were curled up under me as I sipped the cinnamon latté. It had taken me all night and a very hot shower the next morning to get warm again after the chill of last night’s panic attack. But I got up, convinced myself I wasn’t going to die today, a new daily ritual, and forced myself out of the house.
Suddenly, I was overcome with his scent again. I looked around and watched as he sauntered across the café and sat in the seat opposite of me. He was in a long-sleeved green buttoned-down shirt, the black leather jacket nowhere in sight. He looked almost naked without it.
I didn’t exactly know what to say. He sat across the coffee table from me, very relaxed, looking very unsuspicious. Very “nothing to see here people, just a man talking to a girl. Move along.”
“Was that your boyfriend?” he said, looking down at the table between us, strewn with the magazines I’d flipped through that morning.
“I thought you’d been watching me for the past two months.”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen you have dinner with him, go to the opera.”
He looked up at me with wide puppy dog eyes, searching for an answer.
I shook my head. “Devin’s a good friend.”
Something flashed across those warm eyes. “How are you
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