Page 21 of Aftershock
Where have I met her?
Nowhere. That’s the conclusion I come to. Not as a patient, not outside of work, either.
A woman like her is impossible to forget.
Both she and the moral dilemma she stirs within me.
On the one hand, I’m dying to ask her out. On the other, I feel obligated to spare a woman as sweet and innocent-looking as her from ending up with a murderer.
And since I’ve never been this conflicted, or this pulled toward anyone in my life, it has to mean she’s a stranger.
Her small wave snaps me out of whatever my mind has wandered into, and I scowl at myself, at the loss of focus.
As if she finds my expression and weighted silence charming, her smile widens. “Good evening.”
Even her teeth are perfect. Pearly white—and no, that’s not right. She has an implant in the back.
As I start connecting the dots, a muscle in my jaw tics.
My temples throb.
The sad eyes. The bump on her nose. That tooth.
Someone hurt her.
Who?
I’d ask her if I could, demand an answer, except it would just confirm I’m a fucking creep. I’d be out of her life before I even get to say hello.
Which is why all I say is, “Hello.”
“How can I help you?”
Give me your number. Go out with me.
Date a murderer.
“One small coffee to go. Black.”
“Got it.”
As soon as she starts typing my order, my jaw clenches, teeth grinding. I shouldn't be hard, goddammit, but I can't stop it, not when her teeth graze her plump bottom lip, the one I want to sink my teeth into.
Oblivious to my intense staring, she smiles at me once she’s done. “Anything else?”
You.
“No, thank you.”
“You sure?” Her voice is sultry. Tempting. “Sir?”
Where have I met her?
This instinct that’s pulling me toward her—Lilith, according to the name tag pinned to her apron—is driving me insane.
I should let her go.
My mind refuses to listen.
