by the strongest urge to go back to him.
Clutching the bag of chocolates, I forced myself to walk faster away.
Chapter Eight
M y brief reprieve from tu ch’i came at a cost. It was back in full force the next day, and fighting to hold it in exhausted me. I'd planned on getting some painting done before work but the compulsion to pull out the scroll was so strong that I couldn't make myself walk beyond the refrigerator.
Finally I just gave up. I sat on my futon with Rhys's little bag of chocolate, hoping it'd distract me from my headache. No luck. Not even my shower as I got ready for work perked me up.
I'd walked a couple blocks before I registered the prickle up my spine. Someone was spying on me again.
My imagination? Possible. I was either losing it or someone was actually tailing me, and I was leaning toward the latter. The only thing I knew for sure: it wasn't Rhys this time.
I glanced in a storefront window, hoping to catch whoever it was. But I was on Mission Street with half of humanity, and my shadow was too clever at staying hidden. So I did what could be a brilliant move or utterly stupid—I turned onto a less-traveled side street.
The feeling persisted. I picked up the pace, my heart pounding. There could be only one reason I was being followed. If this guy knew I had the scroll, how safe was it hidden in my fridge?
My mark stung as if punctuating my fear.
Then I got pissed. For having the scroll foisted on me. For getting sidetracked from my art. For letting a cowardly punk who couldn't even face me scare me.
"No more," I said through gritted teeth. Using a group of guys ambling toward me as cover, I ducked into a recessed doorway. I waited a couple seconds and then peeked.
There he was. Narrowing my eyes, I tried to get a better look at him, but the dim lighting of the street coupled with winter's early sunset impaired my vision. All I could see was a man, dark, about six feet tall and kind of bulky. But I knew for sure it was my tail—he looked left and right as if he'd lost someone.
Something about the way he moved was familiar. Frowning, I retreated into the alcove again. I was just about to take another peek when someone grabbed my arm and tugged me out of my hiding place.
Gasping in surprise, I automatically palmed up toward his face.
"Hey!" He blocked my strike, so instead of hitting his nose it redirected to his cheek. He grunted at the impact but caught my wrists and held me tight.
I was about to ram my knee into his groin when he said, "It's me, Gabe."
"Jesse?" I stopped my knee just in time and quit struggling.
"Who did you think I was? Jack the Ripper?" He let go of one wrist to rub the side of his face. "You pack a punch, babe."
"That's all you have to say?" I jerked out of his hold and whacked his chest with a fist. "You scared me to frickin' death! What the hell were you doing following me?"
He frowned. "Trying to catch up to you. I saw you and figured you were going to work. Wanted to walk with you."
"Why the hell were you lurking, then?"
"I wasn't." He stepped back as if repelled by my anger. "I just thought we could spend a few minutes together."
"Oh." I blinked. I was about to tell him how sorry I was for jumping down his throat—damn the scroll and its infusing paranoia—but he was already walking away. "Hey. What happened to walking me to work?"
He looked over his shoulder but kept going. "I can tell when I'm not wanted. Sorry I frightened you."
"I do—" want you, I finished mentally as he turned the corner and disappeared. Except I didn't—not the way he wanted me to want him—and I liked Jesse too much to lead him on that way. I thought to go after him to make sure he was okay and that our friendship still stood, but somehow I doubted he'd be receptive.
God, I sucked at relationships.
To cap off my already not-so-stellar evening, Vivian was on shift with me. But I managed to stay clear of her by doing the menial, downtime chores she hated doing. Mostly. She
Clutching the bag of chocolates, I forced myself to walk faster away.
Chapter Eight
M y brief reprieve from tu ch’i came at a cost. It was back in full force the next day, and fighting to hold it in exhausted me. I'd planned on getting some painting done before work but the compulsion to pull out the scroll was so strong that I couldn't make myself walk beyond the refrigerator.
Finally I just gave up. I sat on my futon with Rhys's little bag of chocolate, hoping it'd distract me from my headache. No luck. Not even my shower as I got ready for work perked me up.
I'd walked a couple blocks before I registered the prickle up my spine. Someone was spying on me again.
My imagination? Possible. I was either losing it or someone was actually tailing me, and I was leaning toward the latter. The only thing I knew for sure: it wasn't Rhys this time.
I glanced in a storefront window, hoping to catch whoever it was. But I was on Mission Street with half of humanity, and my shadow was too clever at staying hidden. So I did what could be a brilliant move or utterly stupid—I turned onto a less-traveled side street.
The feeling persisted. I picked up the pace, my heart pounding. There could be only one reason I was being followed. If this guy knew I had the scroll, how safe was it hidden in my fridge?
My mark stung as if punctuating my fear.
Then I got pissed. For having the scroll foisted on me. For getting sidetracked from my art. For letting a cowardly punk who couldn't even face me scare me.
"No more," I said through gritted teeth. Using a group of guys ambling toward me as cover, I ducked into a recessed doorway. I waited a couple seconds and then peeked.
There he was. Narrowing my eyes, I tried to get a better look at him, but the dim lighting of the street coupled with winter's early sunset impaired my vision. All I could see was a man, dark, about six feet tall and kind of bulky. But I knew for sure it was my tail—he looked left and right as if he'd lost someone.
Something about the way he moved was familiar. Frowning, I retreated into the alcove again. I was just about to take another peek when someone grabbed my arm and tugged me out of my hiding place.
Gasping in surprise, I automatically palmed up toward his face.
"Hey!" He blocked my strike, so instead of hitting his nose it redirected to his cheek. He grunted at the impact but caught my wrists and held me tight.
I was about to ram my knee into his groin when he said, "It's me, Gabe."
"Jesse?" I stopped my knee just in time and quit struggling.
"Who did you think I was? Jack the Ripper?" He let go of one wrist to rub the side of his face. "You pack a punch, babe."
"That's all you have to say?" I jerked out of his hold and whacked his chest with a fist. "You scared me to frickin' death! What the hell were you doing following me?"
He frowned. "Trying to catch up to you. I saw you and figured you were going to work. Wanted to walk with you."
"Why the hell were you lurking, then?"
"I wasn't." He stepped back as if repelled by my anger. "I just thought we could spend a few minutes together."
"Oh." I blinked. I was about to tell him how sorry I was for jumping down his throat—damn the scroll and its infusing paranoia—but he was already walking away. "Hey. What happened to walking me to work?"
He looked over his shoulder but kept going. "I can tell when I'm not wanted. Sorry I frightened you."
"I do—" want you, I finished mentally as he turned the corner and disappeared. Except I didn't—not the way he wanted me to want him—and I liked Jesse too much to lead him on that way. I thought to go after him to make sure he was okay and that our friendship still stood, but somehow I doubted he'd be receptive.
God, I sucked at relationships.
To cap off my already not-so-stellar evening, Vivian was on shift with me. But I managed to stay clear of her by doing the menial, downtime chores she hated doing. Mostly. She
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