Page 4 of Look My Way (Bloody Desires #1)

Zavier

I go back to Hank’s diner for something more than the food.

I’m not sure what it was about him and why I couldn’t get my mysterious hero out of my head.

Not sure if it’s how he stuck his neck out for some random stranger, or if it was the fake smile he gave me.

I recognized it. I’ve used it many times to hide what was really going on inside.

I’ve recognized it in Felice and my mom.

So I tell myself I’m just here to make sure he’s okay. That’s all.

Because that’s what I do when I suspect someone might need my help. But perhaps I’m only bullshitting myself. A fluttery sensation stirring in me confirms I am, especially when those bright eyes pop back into my head, along with the memory of the way his skin left mine buzzing.

Still, he could need my help. He looked like he was running in fear from something with the way his gaze kept circling the parking lot. A blonde waitress seats me at a table by the window, setting a menu down in front of me.

“You know what you’d like to drink, hun?” Her pen taps loudly against her pad.

“I’ll take a diet Pepsi.”

“You got it. I’ll be right back with that and give you some time to look over the menu.

” She rushes off to the table behind me before I can respond, and I look down at the menu, scanning the front before flipping to the other side.

As I’m debating between the chicken tender basket and classic hamburger the bell on the front door rings.

Lifting my head, my eyes land right on a pair of familiar blue ones.

His large eyes blink when I wave him over, and I gesture at the seat in front of me.

With a little hesitation in his eyes, he looks away and then back at me before pointing in my direction when the waitress lifts a menu from the front desk.

Smiling, she watches as he heads my way with careful steps.

Rubbing his neck, he glances behind him and then out the window, and as he takes a seat across from me, he forces a smile as he continues to scan the room.

Why does he keep doing that? I doubt I’d get the truth if I asked him, and it’ll take more than one lunch together to find out the answer by myself.

I’m willing to go to the extra trouble, though.

Gives me a reason to start eating at a decent time too, and to go somewhere other than my house between working.

I’ve never cared to pick up a new hobby, being more than satisfied with the one I already have, but I guess today is the day that changes.

“Hi again,” I say, placing my hands on the table. Socializing with strangers isn’t an easy thing for me, but it is with him. I want to keep talking until he relaxes and doesn’t look like he wants to crawl out of his skin. I want to help him like he helped me.

“Hi,” he responds, the word coming out not much louder than a whisper. “You came back.”

“So did you.”

“I always come here. It’s where I come to work.” That’s when I notice the backpack in his hand as he tucks it under his seat.

“I see. And what kind of work would that be?” I lower my eyes to the bag as if expecting to find the answers peeking out somewhere.

“I’m a full-time writer.”

My interest in him only grows. It’s not every day you come across someone with a job title like that one.

It sounds a hell of a lot more interesting than what I do for a living, although the tools required for my job have come in hand in so many other ways.

“What kind of writer? Anything I may have read?”

“Depends. Do you read romantic suspense novels?”

“I could.”

“So, no.” He chuckles.

“I don’t have a whole lot of time to read these days, but I imagine I could find some for the right author.” I waggle my brows, and this time when his lips turn up it comes easy. Okay, make that a possible two new hobbies.

“So . . .” I continue, not wanting to give him a chance to change the subject too soon. “Where would one find your books? Online only? Certain bookstores?”

“Both.” He tugs at his shirt sleeve, nibbling on his lip.

“You going to tell me the name you write under?”

“Maybe.” There’s that genuine smile again. I’ve only witnessed it twice and already see myself growing addicted. Something tells me he doesn’t give them often, and for some reason I’m not okay with that idea.

“So, no,” I say, repeating his earlier words with a grin on my face.

Chuckling, his head lowers, and he sighs. “Wren Michaels. But if you do end up reading something of mine, don’t tell me if you hate it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I narrow in on him. “Is this your way of inviting me to lunch again?”

His cheeks pinken. “I . . . how did you get that from what I said?”

“I mean, how else will I tell you how amazing it is?” I lean in closer, and he blushes again.

And now I’ve found something I like making him do as much as I like getting him to smile. What else will there be?

“I guess you have a point there. What’s the reason for us having lunch together today?”

“It’s my way of thanking you for saving my life. I kind of hoped you’d be here again—in a non-creepy way—so I could repay you by buying you food.”

“In a non-creepy way, huh?” He lets out an awkward laugh. “And that’s not necessary. I happened to be at the right place at the right time is all. I’m not some hero or anything.”

“I politely disagree.”

His eyes hook on mine, lighting up like they did the day he saved me. He’s about to say something when the waitress comes back, placing my drink in front of me. “Can I get you something to drink, hun?”

“Just a water please,” he answers almost too quietly, like he’s afraid of speaking too loudly, and giving himself time to choose each word carefully, like he’s rehearsing his response in his head first.

What has you so afraid, tesoro?

Her eyes go from him to me. “Do you two need some more time to look over the menu?”

“I’m ready if he is,” I quickly say.

“I’ll take my usual.” He hands her his menu, and I finally decide I’m in the mood for chicken tenders, setting my menu on his after telling the waitress. Without pulling out her notepad this time, she scurries off to the back.

“What’s your usual here?” My attention turns back to him.

His fingers tap at the table, and I can tell he wants to look out the window again but is trying really hard to keep his eyes on me.

I don’t like that any more than him not having the opportunity to smile more.

I want him to look at me because he needs to.

Because I’m all he wants to see. Whatever has his mind only partly here has me jealous and it’s crazy.

I don’t know this guy, and even though men have always been my preference, I haven’t found one lately that I’ve cared to look at more than twice.

Not until him. And oh, do I want to keep looking.

It’s hard to care about anything else with him in the room.

“Tuna melt,” he finally says, resting his cheek on his hand, eyes roaming all over the place. Is he having issues with some creep following him around waiting to hurt him like Felice did?

I wrinkle my nose the more I think about his answer. “Not what I was expecting. You eat that every time you come here?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. It’s fulfilling and a little nostalgic. Reminds me of when I was younger and . . . and . . .” His lips roll inward.

“And what?” I cock a brow.

“And when things were different. Easier.”

I definitely didn’t have the same childhood, so I couldn’t in any way relate.

It’s the opposite for me now that I’m older, though.

I’m no longer the one who has to run and hide with my tail between my legs.

Instead, I unleash that fear on people who are like the assholes who were the reason I needed to run to begin with.

“I think most people would agree with you about childhood being a simpler time.”

“Are you most people?”

“No, but I’m usually not when it comes to things like that.

I didn’t have the best experiences growing up, but I guess I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I had.

” Someone needs to do what I do to ensure there are fewer monsters in the world.

Does it make me one too if I take joy in watching the light leave their eyes?

Maybe. But I’m okay with that if it means taking the lives of men like my father and watching someone like the man in front of me enjoy his tuna melt without being on edge while doing so.

“That’s a good way to look at it. Although I’m sorry you had that experience. No one should have to go through that.”

I let out a sigh, leaning back in my chair.

“No, but it’s not anything for you to be sorry about.

Let’s not get stuck on my past traumas, though.

We should go back to lighter conversation.

” I lift the right side of my mouth, giving him a half smile.

“What other foods do you enjoy aside from tuna melts?”

He shuffles in his seat, his face looking pensive. “Macaroni. Not the box kind either. Homemade mac and cheese that melts on your tongue as you eat it with all its cheesy goodness. Tacos are great too, and so is potato soup on a cold day.”

I don’t realize I’m smiling until I bring my cup to my lips, taking a sip of my diet Coke. “Those are all good choices. Especially the tacos. I have to say, I do enjoy warm, comforting foods on cold days too. I’m more of a chili and caldo person, though.”

“Caldo?” His forehead wrinkles, glasses shifting.