His paint-stained hands come up in surrender, white and red and black in front of my face. I focus on them, and the obvious fact that he’d clearly come here straight from work disappears from my mind.
Distance comes between us, but his face changes before he moves away. White, red, and black appear there, too—a painted-on smile, diamond eyes, and a complexion that could glow in the dark.
It lasts only one second.
Forcing my eyes to close a second time, I open them to see the same thing as before.
Normality.
The man no longer resembles the nightmare from my childhood. He looks like so many other men in here, with his shaved head and bloodshot eyes from all the alcohol he’s consumed.
Still, I want to be nowhere near him. Or anyone else.
I have to leave.
This place is worse than home.
Shane is still at the bar when I find him, and he hasn’t been served yet. Many women gather around, all fighting for the bartender’s attention, and Shane does little to explain that there’s a queue.
Maybe he’s changed his mind about that second drink.
He sends a message, asking where someone is when I tap him on the shoulder.
“Do you mind if we get some food and head back to the house?”
I can’t believe that place is where I want to head, but far too many people are here for me, and I’m beyond overstimulated.
“But we haven’t been here that long.”
“Are you expecting friends?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were texting.”
“Oh, no. One of the guys from work said he might stop by here for a drink. I haven’t seen him, though.”
“Then, maybe, just maybe, he found something better to do.” I try to be seductive, trailing his chest with a finger, but it goes unnoticed. So do the words, “I could think of better ways to spend our night.”
Shane just stares at me.
I give up trying to be hot when I’m clearly not and lean against the sticky bar, where many drinks have been spilled. Doing so, I twist my ankle in my old heels, confirming with a loud groan how badly I want to leave.
“Look, you know what, if you want to stay, that’s okay.” Unbuckling the thin straps, I take the deathtraps disguised as pretty shoes off my feet. “But I don’t think I can.”
I don’t wait for him, squeezing through the crowd of people to get outside. Who knows where I’ll go from there, because me and that house alone is not something I feel strong enough for.
The chill claws up my bare feet as I traipse onto the road without my shoes, heading in the direction of my hometown. But the hard and slightly uneven concrete feels better than the dance floor.
“Lancie, wait up!”
I relax at the sound of Shane’s voice, even if he does use the nickname I hate. Careening quickly, I find him stomping on my shadow. He’s in my breathing space, which is far too close for comfort for me. I step back but take his hand.
“I’m glad you decided to come with me.” My body disagrees with my words, and I tremble.
I shouldn’t be nervous, but occasionally, men have that effect on me, even this one, who has never physically hurt me. It’s the closeness. No one has ever been able to get close—except one.
And look at us now, miles apart, with a death threat between us.
