Page 10 of A Game Cursed and Deadly

He leans against the counter, and the veins on his hands snake past his twisted rope and chain bracelets onto his corded forearms. Two black bands, maybe two inches thick, are tattooed on his wrists, visible despite the abundance of jewelry he’s wearing, and pique my interest.

“But you didn’t love this book?”

“It hit a little close to home for me.”

“What about it?” He looks down to the book to read the blurb. “Is it the return to the hometown? Or the dark, haunting past?”

Both. “Just the return to the hometown.”

His full lips pull into a lazy smile, like he can smell my bullshit. “Hazel Creek doesn’t seem that bad.”

Yeah, right. I snort. “You’ve not been around long enough.”

He shrugs and leans closer. “Got here yesterday. So far, I’d say it’s pretty interesting.”

His deep golden eyes are bearing down to my soul when he says that. He leaves little room to question that what he finds interesting is me, and that makes my stomach tie in knots.

Teizel is gorgeous. Really, a work of art. No person should have the right to look that pretty. But there’s something sinister about him, something alarming. Somehow he reminds me of the ghosts I see — out of place, like he doesn’t belong to this world.

I try to play it casual. “You’ll change your mind.”

He makes a show of his slow peruse of my face and neck, stops before my chest to travel back to my eyes — a small mercy, as the nipples I didn’t bother hiding pebble. “I don’t think I will, no.”

I shuffle on my feet, then pull the book on the counter toward me. “Just this?”

He nods and hands me his credit card. “Unless…”

My heart speeds up, and I keep my head down as I finish his transaction.

“Esmeralda?”

Don’t look at his face. Don’t look at his face. “Mhmh?”

“Look at me.”

Dammit. I do. Teizel looks older than me, but I can’t place why. He doesn’t have wrinkles, not even expression lines, and his features would be best described as timeless, but something about his eyes tells me he’s seen more life than I can imagine.

He reaches his hand over the counter to stroke a knuckle against my wrist, and goosebumps erupt on my arm. Traitorous body. “I didn’t think I was going to see you again.”

“This is where I work. Some of us need labor to survive.” He strikes me as the kind of person who wouldn’t know the meaning of that. Aristocratic, even.

“Regardless, I’m happy you were wrong. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

I’d dismiss his statement as buttering me up if something in his tone didn’t sound so vulnerable, like he doesn’t want to be thinking about me. Like he can’t really help it.

“Trust me, there isn’t much to think about. You’re better off directing your attentions elsewhere.”

His eyebrows pull down over his eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re just trying to dismiss me, or if you actually believe that.”

I chew my inner cheek. His eyes widen. “You do believe that. Wow.”

I hate that he can read me so easily. “The novelty wears off, and then I’m just baggage.”

His knuckle never stops its assault on my senses. “Esmeralda, if you think your appeal is novelty, you haven’t looked at yourself in the mirror enough.”

As to make his point clear, his eyes scan me again, and this time, they don’t stop at my neck. A slow grin spreads on his lips as he takes in the way my nipples push against the lightweight fabric of my cropped tee.

“Let me take you out on a date,” he finally says after an interminable pause.