Lila: Where are you? Need to talk. Like, five-alarms emergency talk.
Her response comes seconds later.
Tessa: Almost there. Meet at the library. Third floor. Bring caffeine.
Standing up feels mechanical, like my body's on autopilot while my brain short-circuits. I grab a coffee for Tessa and head toward the library, dodging frisbee-throwing freshmen who look like actual children to me now.
My mind keeps replaying Dane's face as he told me about Gianna. Not the stone-cold ex-Marine who efficiently took down three frat boys. Not the commanding presence who handcuffed me to his doorframe last night. This was a twelve-year-old boy trapped in a grown man's body, still carrying the weight of a death he couldn't prevent.
Fuck. I'm in way too deep with him.
When I get there, Tessa's already there, unpacking journalism textbooks and laptop, her perfect chestnut hair flawless. She drapes the suit for my interview over a share. I don't know what I would do without her help.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she says when I collapse into the chair across from her.
"More like I've seen inside one." I slide the coffee toward her. "Dane just told me about a little girl he knew, who was murdered when he was twelve." I just lay it out there, knowing there's no good place to start a conversation like this.
"Jesus Christ." Tessa's perfectly manicured hand freezes halfway to her coffee. "That's... heavy."
"It's like... you know how they say everyone has layers?" I trace a water ring on the table. "Dane's got the whole damn onion going on."
Tessa leans forward, elbows on her textbook. "Damn!"
I chew my lip, remembering how vulnerable he looked. "You should've seen him, Tess. This man who can literally snapsomeone's wrist without breaking a sweat just... cracked open. Told me about how he couldn't save Gianna. And he's still carrying it. He blames himself."
"Men like that don't just spill their childhood trauma to anyone," Tessa says, eyeing me over her coffee cup. "Especially not the strong, silent type."
"That's what freaks me out. He said I'm 'the first light that didn't blind me.' His exact words." I run my fingers through my hair, tugging slightly.
Tessa nearly spits out her coffee. "Who even says stuff like that? It's like... poetry from a gun catalog."
"And the thing is, it tore me up inside." The library buzzes around us, but all I can hear is Dane's voice, rough and raw. "He's opened up whole memory files that should have digital dust on them." I trace the lid of my coffee cup. "And I… I told him about Mr. Colton. About New Orleans."
Tessa's eyes widen. "The full story?"
"Everything. And he didn't look at me with pity or that gross 'damaged goods' face." I stare at the ceiling, remembering Dane's expression. "He looked like he wanted to burn the world down for me, starting with Mr. Colton. And the messed-up part is... part of me wanted to give him matches and gasoline."
"Wow. You really trust him."
"That's the thing, I do. And I'm not exactly the poster child for trust." I let out a hollow laugh. "My trust issues have trust issues. Every guy who's shown interest since New Orleans has been put through the Lila Marks 'Is He A Predator?' screening process. But with Dane..."
"With Dane...?" Tessa prods.
"With Dane, even though he's got 'dangerous' tattooed all over him—not literally, though he does have tattoos—" I catch myself babbling. "Anyway, I should be running for the hills. He's literally a trained killer. But I feel... safe."
I drop my head into my hands. "What's happening to me, Tessa? I've gone from 'no tough men' to 'let this one handcuff me to his doorframe' in like two weeks. This isn't me."
Tessa sets her coffee down and gives me a look that's somewhere between sympathetic and smug. "Honey, I hate to break it to you, but you might be… falling in love."
"Love?" I practically choke. "No. Absolutely not. Sexual chemistry? Yes. Intense, addictive, mind-blowing sexual chemistry? Hell yes. But love? That's not on my bingo card for at least five, maybe ten years."
"Love doesn't own a calendar, babe."
"Well, it should. I've got a color-coded life plan, remember? Graduate school, land serious journalism job, establish career, maybe consider dating seriously at thirty." I count off on my fingers. "Love is supposed to wait its damn turn."
"So Dane Wolfe isn't following your Google Calendar schedule. Shocking." Tessa rolls her eyes. "A man like that… The man breaks necks for a living—you think he cares about your five-year plan?"
"He doesn't break necks. He's a private detective, not an assassin." But even as I defend him, I remember the way he offered to 'educate' Mr. Colton, the efficiency with which he took down those frat boys. Those large, strong hands that…
