I quickly nodded in understanding. I wanted her off that bridge too.
“Thanks for… Shit. I’m so sorry. Let me get that dry-cleaned for you.” She motioned to the tears and black makeup smudges staining my shoulder.
I chuckled. “I’ll be okay. Besides, I can’t give it up. It’s my only coat.”
Her face paled. “Oh God. That’s even worse. I’ll buy you a new one.”
“I’m kidding. I have a whole closet full. I swear.” I made a cross over my heart. “But don’t worry about getting it dry-cleaned. Really, it’s not that nice. I can just toss it in the wash when I get home.”
“I can tell you from experience that mascara isn’t going to come off in the wash. Just let me—”
“Seriously, it’s just a jacket. If you are hell-bent on making it up to me, then tell me your name.”
Her chin snapped to the ground. “Uhhh…”
“Right,” I said, more than just a little put off.
“It’s just…”
I shoved the unlit cigarette back in the pack then tilted my head toward the way down. “Come on. I’m ready to go home.”
She didn’t move. “Sam, I… I mean…”
I forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
Resting a hand on the small of her back, I ushered her down the bridge. She went willingly, but her eyes were aimed at the ground as she nervously knotted her fingers in front of her.
When we reached the bottom, she stopped and lifted her gaze to mine. “About that little freak-out on the bridge… I’m… I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I mean, you—”
She could have apologized all she wanted, but I wasn’t interested in the least. Pulling a yellow piece of paper from my pocket, I cut her off. “Take this. I completely understand that you don’t want to talk or tell me your name. But, last night, I was freaking out that…” I paused to think of how to gently phrase it, but I came up empty. It is what it is. “I thought you jumped.”
“Sam—”
“No. Just hear me out. That’s my number. You seem to get here no earlier than eleven every night. So I’ll be here tomorrow and every night after that by ten thirty. But if, for some reason, you feel the need to come earlier, use that and I’ll be here.”
Her face softened as she took a step toward me. “Sam—”
I scrubbed a hand over my chin and continued to talk over her. “And if, for some reason, you don’t feel like coming up here, can you at least put me out of my misery and shoot me a text or something?”
“Sam, stop.” She inched even closer and rested her hands on my chest.
“I get it. You’re clearly a private person. Feel free to block your number and sign the text ‘Designer Shoes’ or, really, not at all. I’ll know who it’s from,” I nervously rambled. It wasn’t because she was suddenly touching me or the fact that heat might as well have been radiating from her hands for the way it made my chest feel, but rather because I wanted to touch her too.
But I really just wanted to throw her in the back of my car and force her into some kind of therapy so I could stop obsessing about her—and then maybe touch her in a different way.
I didn’t think kidnapping would go over well, but instead of acting like a normal person and offering to get her help, I looped an arm around her waist and shifted her even closer against my body.
“I think you’re right. I really might be a tattooed stalker.”
She smiled. “I’m not going to jump,” she whispered.
God, I want to believe her.
“Take your glasses off,” I whispered back, tipping my head down so I was only a breath away from her mouth.
Her tongue darted out and dampened her red lips.
I needed to see her fucking eyes. And then taste her mouth.
Then kidnap her.
I decided to take matters into my own hands. After slowly reaching up, I pinched a corner of her glasses. I didn’t remove them, but I made my intentions clear.
“Please let me see you.”