Two other people rushed forward. They appeared to be some sort of bodyguards or maybe security staff employed by the bookstore.
Either way, I had no interest in meeting them. I turned and fled toward the staircase.
“Is she okay?” I heard someone say behind me.
Might have been Jack. Might have been one of the other, oh, hundred or so people gaping at the disaster scene I’d created.
As I reached the top step, a male voice said, “Stop her. Don’t let her leave.”
I glanced back over my shoulder to see the two security guys move away from Jack’s table and toward me.
Oh God.I’d maimed him, and he was going to press charges.
Picking up speed, I ran down the stairs to the first floor and out the front door without another look backward—and without waiting for Erin.
I didn’t stop running until I reached the next block. Cowering under the awning of a café specializing in crepes, I texted her.
Meet you outside? I’m all done.Understatement of the year.
Hanging my head, I squeezed my temples with my free hand and fought to suppress another round of tears.
I told him he was beautiful.
And probably burned off his undoubtedly beautiful man-parts. The tears started again as the battle was lost.
Looking back on the debacle, I determined where it all had gone wrong. I’d been so in love with Jack Bestia’s words, I’d hardly even considered what he looked like.
Or how nice his voice might sound. Or how good he might smell.
It was inherently unfair a man could be so talentedandso attractive.
The total package he’d presented had been simply overwhelming.
If there was any good news, it was that Ididlive in a city of more than eight and a half million people. And Jack Bestia wasn’t one of them. He lived more than three hours away in Eastport Bay, Rhode Island.
There was no chance I’d ever run into him—or have to look into those remarkable blue eyes again.
Chapter Two
Bestia the Beast
Jack- Two Years Later
I had nothing against cosplay or free speech, but this was getting ridiculous.
A crowd of people stood outside the gates to my Oceanview Avenue estate as I pulled up in my Lamborghini Huracan.
A shirtless man wearing a long wig and a braided beard had tribal tattoos painted up and down his arms. By his side, a woman in a platinum wig and gauzy full-length teal gown clutched a bright green dragon egg.
Several other men were dressed in black tunics, black pants, black boots, and black furry cloaks. A red-headed woman in a scarlet dress and cape chatted with another in an elaborate embroidered gown and a crown atop her long, blonde hair.
At least they were dressed.
Another woman stood there naked, save for a snake. Her nipples and bikini zone were barely covered by the fake boa constrictor artfully wrapped around her.
God I hoped it was fake.
Ever since the media had sothoughtfullypublished my address, driving up to my own house was like going to a ComicCon convention.
