Page 11 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

Mere moments after walking out of Lucent’s entrance, I’m hugging myself against the chill of the night. The glowing lights along the top of the building are a pretty sort of guide towards the employee lot; they’re as elegant and warm as the restaurant’s interior. I gaze appreciatively at them for a moment before watching where I’m going.

Freaking Luke.

Scowling, I shake my head. I’ve tried not to linger on our cell phone argument from earlier, but he’s just so…whatever he is. Nothing bothers him and I don’t know how.

Well, I guess I bother him, but—

I gasp at the sudden smack of a moth against my face. I bat at it and wave it away, catching some of my hair in the process, quickening my pace around the end of the building with the hope of outrunning the insect.

Then, as I keep following the sidewalk towards where I parked, I puff out a breath. I swipe my mussed hair back from my face and wonder why I’m trying to outrun a moth. It’s not like it would sting me or—

“Hey, Maggie, wait up,”

comes a guy’s voice.

Now slowing my steps, I turn a curious look behind me.

And when I see who’s there, true alarm spikes into me.

Kyle is somehow almost upon me, apparently having followed me around the corner of the building.

What? blares in my head. What? Why is he…? Where did he come from?

A sweeping glance around the parking lot shows no one is out here but us—it’s just me and him and the could-be-more-lit-up night. Even the light pole close by doesn’t seem bright enough.

A chill goes down the back of my neck.

“It’s me again,”

he says with a wave.

“Kyle Danfords. I’m sure you remember me this time?”

Oh, do I nod.

“Nice.”

He stops near me. I take a step back.

When did I stop walking?

“So, hey,”

he goes on.

“it might seem random that I’m here again, but it’s Taco Tuesday at this great place down the street and I wanted to invite you for dinner and a drink. I just didn’t wanna bother you while you were working, so instead of going in the building like the other day, I waited around to catch you after.”

His words are loud in my ears, his smile sharp in this poor lighting; my heartbeat is heavy in my chest.

Did he just say he’s been waiting out here for me to get off work? How did he even know I was at work?

“Oh, whoops,”

he says.

“Your hair is all messed up right here.”

I barely register that before his fingers are at my bangs, their tips brushing through to my forehead and scarred eyebrow as he tries to fix my hair. I suck in a breath and back, back, back away again, the alarm inside me mounting that much more.

Um.

I don’t like this. Any of this.

I can’t tell that he can tell. He’s still just smiling.

“So what do you think?”

he asks.

“Wanna go?”

All at the same time, I know I need to keep moving and I think he’s close enough to grab me and I prepare to scream and I cling to the hope that he won’t grab me because he’s just a harmless guy, right? Just forward? But he’s also always touching me and he has followed me into a dark parking lot because he was waiting for me—

“No, I can’t,”

I hear myself saying thinly through the noise of my thoughts.

“My—they’re expecting…. I have plans. Already. I am expected.”

At the end of this lie, I force a smile since I’m abruptly hit by worry about angering him. I do not want to anger him right now, when there’s no one here to help me if he reacts badly.

“Sorry,”

I add.

“but I have to go now.”

I try to both keep an eye on him and keep walking to my car without tripping or running into anything.

Is this gonna make him mad? Is he gonna keep following me? Please, no.

But he says.

“Oh, okay,”

and even though he sounds and looks disappointed, he’s lifting a hand in another wave.

“Maybe another time?”

The, No, in my head is so loud I almost fear he can hear it.

I don’t manage an audible answer as I reach my car. I just silently thank God I can unlock it with a button on my key because I don’t think I’d be able to do it manually right now.

I hear Kyle call out to ask again.

“Hey, another time, yeah?”

I pretend not to hear him now that I’m shutting myself into my car.

I’m away from him, I assure myself as I hit the locks. I’m okay. Everything’s okay.

My sigh of relief is so huge it hurts.

But by the time I’m reversing out of my spot, only sparing another look for him to see he’s still on the sidewalk, it feels like a fist has gripped my insides and started shaking them.

“Everything’s okay,”

I tell myself out loud.

I get out of the lot and onto the street.

“I’m safe. I’m okay.”

My voice is shaking, too, though, and my hands on the steering wheel, and even my foot against the gas pedal.

Even though I’m glad I’m safe—glad, relieved, thankful that that encounter didn’t take any number of bad turns—one scared question is growing in my mind. It’s getting bigger and bigger by the moment, feeding on these last couple of minutes and the other encounters we’ve had.

What is up with Kyle Danfords?