N9ne: The Tale of Kevin Clearwater (King, #9)(29)

“Oh my god, you’re like my shoe guardian angel,” I say. “Thank you!”

I raise my beer over my shoulder to salute her because I’m already halfway around the building to the RV. It’s one of those older, tour bus models. The kind that Beyoncé wouldn’t be caught dead in, but the perfect fit for say a recently reunited boy band’s grand tour of Northern Iowa.

I push through the crowd of people and enter the darkened RV that feels like another world compared to the party raging outside. It’s quiet in here. Too quiet. I hurry to find the better shoe options so I can get back outside to the blissful mind-numbing noise.

I can’t find the light switch, and only the dim light from the moon is shining through the small window. I kick off my shoes and hold them in one hand while I navigate through the small kitchen. I locate the stove and crouch down. I find the bag and unzip it. Sure enough, there are a few pairs of flip flops inside. I grab a pair of comfortable-looking black ones and shove my feet into them.

An eerie feeling like before hisses down my neck like dozens of tiny snakes sinking their needle-like fangs into my skin as they go.

That’s my cue to leave.

I turn and race back to the door, but I collide head-on with a massive wall of a road block. My hands shoot out to brace myself, and I immediately notice that the wall is warm. And hard. And muscular. And smells like cigarette smoke and light masculine cologne.

Probably, because it’s not a wall. It’s a him.

“Do you make stealing from people a habit?” a deep raspy voice filled with warning asks.

I raise my eyes, and dread pools in my stomach. Immediately, I recognize the owner of the hard, good-smelling wall-chest. The man from the alley.

Nine.

His eyes are dark and serious. Heated just like his skin…oh, shit. His skin. I can still feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt because I’m still touching him.

I take a step back, but he grabs my arms and holds me firmly in place.

“What are you doing here?” I ask breathlessly.

“What am I doing here? You’re on my side of the causeway. In my RV. The question is, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I suppose you’re going to be yet another person who tells me that I don’t belong here? Fine. Let me go, and I’ll leave.”

“You’ll leave when I say you can. Why are you in here?” He slowly moves forward until my back is flush with a wall of cabinets.

“Ray told me to come in here and borrow a pair of her shoes,” I grunt. “And, seeing as you don’t know me very well, I’ll just tell you now that I’m not a kid. I can make my own decisions, and I don’t have to answer your questions. Are we clear? I’m a grown woman. I got this.” I push on his chest, but he doesn’t move, and as much as I’m trying to get across my message to this guy, I can’t help my thighs from shaking with his proximity.

“Yes, you are,” he says, raking me over with his eyes. “But being in here still isn’t a good idea.”

“Who the hell are you to say that to me? I was invited, and last time I checked, you’re not my keeper. Thanks for saving me from Benny and the Jet in the alley, but I don’t owe you anything. I don’t even know you or anything about you except that your name is Nine, and that you took down those guys in the alley with your fancy necklace that I assume they don’t sell at Tiffany’s.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he asks, his hard stare shifts gears to slightly amused.

I swallow hard. “Yep. I have anxiety. The need to fill the silence with word vomit is one of the sexier side-effects. You don’t like it? I’ll be happy to be on my merry, babbling way.”

“Maybe, I do like it.”

We’re both quiet, save for the loud pounding of my heart beneath my ribs. “I should get back to my friend,” I say, but I don’t move.

“Lenny, you’re not going anywhere,” he growls. He leans in, and his lips brush over mine. My entire body comes alive like a street light buzzing to life.

“Lenny, there you are!” Yuli shouts opening the door to the RV with a loud bang. I jump away from Nine. “Get out here, and have a drink with me. What the hell is taking you so long?”

I’m leaving when a thought occurs to me, “Wait, how do you know my name?”

“Lenny!” Yuli calls again.

He stands there with words on the tip of his tongue, but I decide not to stick around and wait for whatever bullshit answer he’s probably trying to come up with, even though I know the result of not hearing what he might have to say has a high chance of haunting me for the rest of my life and cause me many agonizing nights of sleeplessness.

But then again, so did the ending of Game of Thrones.

Because, anxiety.

Besides, I already have enough material from the past week to keep me awake for ten lifetimes without lumping Nine’s non-answers onto the steaming pile of shit my life has become.

Yuli is barely keeping up with me as I’m practically running to the cooler, praying I’ll find a chilled bottle of vodka hidden beneath the ice and beer.

Go ahead, ignore me. See where that gets you.

I freeze.

The voice of my anxiety has always been a girl, but suddenly, it’s changed. It’s now a man’s voice.

And not just any man.