“You,” he countered, still not looking at me.
What the fuck?!
Who did this guy think he was?
“No, I don’t think so,” I said, picking up my pace. “Coming here was a mistake?—”
“Welles,” Graham clipped.
Welles?
“So, I’ll just be going?—”
My retreat was halted by a solid wall.
At least, I thought it was a wall — until I felt it shift against my spine, warm and muscular and most definitelyalive. Sucking in a startled breath, I whirled around to see Mr. Man Bun had come unstuck from his spot by the bookshelves and was now standing directly between me and my escape route. His boots were firmly planted on the hardwood and his frame completely blocked the door. He was so tall, I was pretty sure I strained a muscle in my neck when I craned my head to meet his hazel-gold eyes.
“Excuse me…” I fell back on my manners, for lack of any idea what one was supposed to say in a scenario like this. “Would you mind moving?”
“Yep.”
“Yep as in,you’ll move?” My brows went up. “Or yep as in,you mind?”
He just grinned at me, the handsome bastard.
God!
What was wrong with the people in this city? Were they putting something in the water that made them all so alarmingly meddlesome? Was that crisp fall air critically low on oxygen, cutting off vital brain functions such asreasonandlogicandcommon sense?
Coming to The Gallows was a colossal miscalculation on my part. I didn’t care if Gigi swore backwards and forwards that it was cool. I didn’t care that the interior was so aesthetically pleasing, just being there was a certified mood booster. I didn’t even care that fate herself had steered me straight through the front door. All I cared about, in that moment, was getting the heck out of there.
Behind me, I could hear Gwen and Graham going back and forth, bickering. The couple on the stools seemed to have joined the fray, taking sides in the argument, adding their voices to the discourse. But I was too worked up to listen. My only concern was getting away from these nutcases. Eyeing the doorknob, I attempted to dart around Mr. Man Bun while he was momentarily distracted by the argument unfolding behind me. My plan was foiled in less than a second. He shifted his mammoth body directly in front of the knob, so it was impossible to grab.
“Get out of my way!” I hissed through clenched teeth. “Now!”
“No.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Oh, as ifyou’regoing to have a heart attack,” I snapped. “What’s your body fat percentage? Negative one? I bet your valves are justpristine. I bet your cholesterol isimpeccable.I bet you are thepictureof cardiovascular health!”
There was a distinct pause. Then, in an amused tone, he said, “You need to work on your insults.”
“Okay. Sure. I’ll do that. I pinky swear, I’ll march straight out of here and spend the next seventeen consecutive hours practicing all the ways I can more effectively eviscerate you in our next verbal sparring match… so long as you stopblocking the freaking doorandmove out of my way!”
“Can’t do that,” he said flatly.
“Why the hell not?”
“Graham says you stay, you’re staying.”
I repeat…
What.
The.