Page 125 of His To Erase

“I know what perfume you wear when you want to be noticed. I know you chew the inside of your cheek when you’re lying. I know you went on a date with a man who doesn’t deserve to breathe your air—and I know you’re still wearing the necklace he gave you like it means something.”

My hand flies to my throat like a reflex. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His mouth twitches.

“You do realize that made you sound exactly like a stalker, right?”

His smile is slow. “No. That’s called paying attention, dear.”

I roll my eyes so hard I almost see God, but it’s just a cover. He leans in—elbows on the bar like he owns it—and his voice slithers under my skin.

“You were biting your nails when you thought no one was watching. But only when someone ordered gin. You hate gin. And the guy who orders it? Regular. You don’t like him.”

I blink. My pulse stutters.What the hell is this, Dr. Phil?But he’s not done.

“You’ve checked your phone three times since I got here, but you haven’t responded to anything. Which means you’re dodging someone.”

The silence between us locks up and all I can think is, he’s been watching me longer than I even realized.Maybe he is the stalker.He leans back like nothing out of the ordinary just happened and he didn’t just dissect me with surgical precision.

“That,” he says smoothly, “is called observation. Not stalking.”

My jaw tightens and heat crawls up my neck before I can shove it down. I hate that he’s right about those things, and I really fucking hate that my pussy, for some deranged reason, loved every second of that like it was some kind of mating ritual.

Like yes, Daddy, thank you for noticing I flinch at gin orders.

I hate even more, that he sees things I didn’t even know I was doing.

“I’ve got customers,” I mutter, spinning on my heel.

I don’t wait for a response before I shove through the swing gate and back to the taps, nearly elbowing some frat bro who smells like Axe and daddy issues.

“Two more whiskeys!” someone yells from table six.

“Then get off your ass and come get them,” I snap.

He laughs like I’m joking. I’m not.

Sarah throws me a look, but I ignore it. My hands move on autopilot, but my head’s somewhere else. If it’s not Steven sending those texts…if it’s not him who broke into my apartment and left that card…then who the hell is?

My stomach coils.

I should’ve gone with Frank.

I should’ve said yes, even though it would mean letting him play bodyguard in some overpriced hotel suite. Instead I’m here—still being watched and toyed with. I’m now questioning my own sanity instead of a man I should hate.

Steven might be dangerous, but if it’s not him, and I was wrong, that means someone else out there is worse—and I don’t know who they are or what the hell they want.

I wipe down the last sticky table and glance back toward the end of the bar, and yup, he’s still there.

God, I hate him.

And goddamn it, he’s hot.

I swipe a hand through my hair, muttering something under my breath I wouldn’t want anyone to hear, and storm over like I’m not currently burning alive in my own skin.

He watches me approach—like I’m the only thing in the room worth watching and I slap my hand on the bar in front of him.

“You know, I’ve got a genius idea.”