I honestly didn’t care what we did. After my nap, I was wide awake and ready to do something.
He turned off the stove and brought the pan to the island where our plates and tortillas already waited. My stomach rumbled in anticipation as I made up two fajitas. Carlos seemed less enthused about eating, spending more time watching me. So I made a fajita for him and set it on his plate. He took the hint.
We ate together in silence. I didn’t mind it, but I thought him extra quiet. I wondered if my teasing had hurt his feelings. I’d told him I didn’t know what I was doing relationship-wise.
As soon as I stuffed the last bite of fajita into my mouth, he reached for my plate. He still had half a fajita on his.
“You’re done?” I was surprised he’d gone through all the effort of cooking if he really wasn’t that hungry. Not that I would complain about it; dinner had been delicious.
“Yes. I’ve had enough.” He stood with the plates and brought them to the sink. He set them on the counter and turned toward me.
“Let’s go for the walk.”
I glanced at the plates behind him. He hadn’t scraped the plates, rinsed them, or anything. That wasn’t like him.
“Um. Okay.”
I went to the couch and grabbed my jacket and scarf. It was a struggle to loop the scarf the way the woman had shown me, but I finally got it, then put on my shoes. Carlos waited by the door the entire time. Though he was an emotional void as usual and didn’t fidget in the slightest, something about him rang with impatience.
“Don’t you need a jacket or a sweater or something?”
“No.” He opened the door and gestured me out.
“Are you impatient?” I asked, eyeing him as I walked out the door.
“Yes, Isabelle. Very.”
He closed the door.
“Are you going to tell me why?”
He held out his hand. I took it, and we started down the hall. I had to hustle to keep up with his long strides.
“I’m hoping we can go for a run.”
“Aren’t we already?”
He slowed down as we jogged down the stairs. Though I kept glancing at him, I couldn’t read anything from him.
“Where are we going to run?”
“Outside.”
I laughed at him, and the sound of it echoed in the garage. He pulled me toward the exit door, barely nodding to the guard there. As soon as we were outside, he stopped and turned to me.
His fingers glided over my cheeks, and he leaned in close to my ear.
“Run, Isabelle.”
I jerked back at his roughened voice.
“Whoa! Wait. Is this like the last time? You can’t...” I glanced around. There were still people everywhere. The guard watched us through the security window. “People will see.”
“I won’t change.”
His shaking, fisted hands didn’t convince me.
“And what are you going to do when you catch me?”
His gaze heated.
“Make out.”
My stomach thought it was a great plan and started doing aerobatic maneuvers. Anticipation coursed through me.
“I want a head start,” I said.
“I’ll count to ten.”
“Fifty.”
“Twenty-five, starting now. One. Two...”
I pivoted and sprinted away from him, pushing people aside. My stupid grin helped keep everyone’s alarm down. I pressed myself to run fast, then faster, using the emotions I accidently siphoned from those around me. Behind me, the sound of Carlos’ counting faded.
What was I doing? This was crazy. Crazy exciting!
I gasped for air but didn’t slow. My sneakers hit the pavement with resounding thumps. I turned a corner then dashed across the street, weaving between still moving cars. One almost hit me. I didn’t slow.
Was he still counting? Had it been twenty-five seconds? I bolted around another corner, putting more distance between us, and spotted a little café ahead. I briefly considered ducking into it, but that thought came to a screeching halt when I was grabbed from behind and lifted into the air.
I squealed and laughed.
“That wasn’t the reaction I expected,” a strange voice said a moment before the man spun me around and hit me in the face.
Pain exploded. I widened my stance to keep from falling as my ears rang. My vision was grey and blurry, messing with my equilibrium more. I tried to shake the feeling free and pull, but pulling made my stomach heave. I gagged.
The guy swore and grabbed my arm, spinning me away from him. My pulse throbbed in my upper lip and cheek.
“I’ve got one,” I heard him say. “She was alone but running. Get a car here, quick.”
Like hell.
I shook my head again and pulled hard. His grasp slackened, and I almost lost my fajita but the pull worked. I’d gained what I needed. Clarity returned in time for me to see the man fall to his knees. I punched him in the face. Twice. Then grabbed the phone from his hand. The man blinked at me stupidly.
Across the street, someone was yelling. I ignored that and put the phone to my ear.
“Who is this?”
“This is Blake,” a man politely said on the other end.
I saw red.
“Who is this?” he asked.
“Hi, Blake. Not nice to meet you. My name is Isabelle, and I’m out for your blood.”