“Fucking hell!” I press my hand to my ear and glare at the attacker, the anger draining from me in an instant when I see who it is.
Blair stands before me, her red curls messy and windblown, her shoulders heaving as she tries to catch her breath. “Stay back, asshole.”
Her tone is strong and confident, and if her hands weren’t trembling while clutching the branch she smashed me with, I’d almost believe she was fearless. “I’ve already called the police,” she says. “They’re on their way.”
Ignoring the pain in my throbbing ear, I lower my hand and pat the air between us. “Calm down, sweetheart. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Blair’s nostrils flare, and she takes a step back, waving the branch between us. “I’m not your sweetheart,” she spits back. “What do you want from me?”
I drop my hands, trying to appear as calm and unthreatening as possible. “I was just making sure you were safe, that’s all.”
Her freckled nose crinkles with disbelief. “Making sure I was safe? Bullshit. You were creeping around outside my house like a fucking stalker.”
I can’t take my eyes off her freckles. Off her face. Blair’s a gorgeous woman, but when she’s angry like this… Fuck me, she’s adorable.
Blair draws back the branch, ready to swing again. “Hey, asshole, stop staring.”
The chuckle escapes my lips before I can stop it, and her eyes flash with fury. “You think this is a joke? I will fucking bash your skull in!”
“I’m sure you would,” I say, both trying and failing to contain my grin. “I’m sure you’re very deadly with that… stick of yours. But I’m not here to hurt you. I was just checking in. I’ve been doing it every day since…”
The rage in her eyes falters a little before falling away completely, replaced by understanding. “You,” she whispers. “You’re him. The one who saved me that night.”
My smile fades at the memory. Blair, bloody and crumpled on the floor. I can’t answer, so I simply nod.
Lowering the branch, she holds it low at her side. “Why?” she asks. “How? How did you save me? Why didn’t you stay?”
I sigh, pointing to the steps of her deck. “May I?”
I can tell she’s still unsure about me, but she nods, nonetheless. Taking a seat, I again suppress a laugh at her standing there, the stick in her hand still between us. “It was my dog,” I tell her. “He must’ve heard you scream, and he wasn’t giving me any choice but to check it out.”
Her eyes widen. “So you stopped him?”
I nod. “And the dog got a good bite or two in, so whoever he is, he’s hurting.”
“Did you see who it was?”
I sigh and drop my head, unable to look at her. “No. I almost had him, but you were hurt so fucking bad. You needed help, so I focused on you. I hate I let that fucker get away, though.”
The stick lands on the ground with a gentle thud, and she takes a seat beside me on the step, the heat of her body radiating against my arm. “I could have died.”
I lift my head and meet her electrifying green eyes. “I know.”
“Thank you.”
The words come out as a whisper, but I feel them deep in my soul.
“No thanks needed, Red. I’m just glad we got here when we did.”
Her eyes brighten, and a small smile graces her lips. We stay that way far longer than necessary, just staring at each other.
“Why didn’t you stay?” she asks. “At the hospital. They told me you were out there, but that once they told you I was okay, you left.”
I focus my gaze down and scratch at an imaginary stain on my worn jeans. “We didn’t know each other. I didn’t want to make it weird.”
Her tiny hand comes into view, forcing my attention back to her. “Blair,” she offers with a smile.
Taking her hand in mine, I do my best not to notice how fragile and perfect it feels there while giving it a slow shake.
“GP,” I reply.
She tilts her head to the side, her nose scrunching with confusion. “GP?”
“Short for GreenPeace,” I explain. “It’s what my friends call me.”
Her smile grows wider, her teeth shining through the crease between her full, pink lips. “Well, GP, now we know each other.”
I chuckle, her soft hand still in mine. “Yes, we do.”
My phone buzzes again. Fuck. Judge.
“I gotta go.” I release my grip on her hand and force myself to stand. Touching her was a mistake, but fuck did her skin feel good. “Give me your phone and I’ll put my number in.” Fuck, that sounds weird. “You know… in case you need something.”
She pats her pocket, and then stops. “It’s dead.”
I frown. “So how the fuck did you call the cops?”
Her shoulders lift in a shrug, and her smile reappears. “I lied.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. She was going to go after her attacker with a fucking branch and no goddamn back up. She’s either brave or extremely lucky it was me checking up on her and not the guy coming back to finish the job. Either way, I might just have to come by more often to make sure she hasn’t tried this stunt on someone else. “Pen?”
Blair pops up from the step and motions for me to follow her. We go around to the front of the house where her book bag lies against the front step. She bends over to unzip it, and I can’t take my eyes off her ass. Quit it, dumbass. Stop looking at what you can’t have.
“Here you go.” She offers me a bright pink pen and a heart-shaped Post-it note.
I stare at the two items. I can honestly say that in all my life, I’ve never before had anything so fucking girly in my hands. “Jesus,” I mutter again, ignoring her giggle as I scribble my information onto the paper. “Call me,” I tell her, my tone as serious as a heart attack. “Day or night, rain or shine. I live just around the corner, and can be here way faster than the police can.”
“Thank you,” she says softly, gripping the paper in her hand.
I take a step toward the sidewalk and lift my hand in a wave. “See ya, Blair.”
“See ya, GP.”
Jesus. She’s trouble with a capital T.
Blair
It’s been three days since GP revealed himself as my savior, and I can’t seem to get him out of my head. It still boggles my mind that a complete stranger would throw himself and his dog into danger to help me. It makes zero sense to me. Yet he did without a second thought.
Who does that? And to give me his number in case I needed to contact him? I should’ve thrown it away the second he left, but here I am, days later, still staring at it like an idiot. He could be my attacker, for crying out loud, and I’m considering texting him and inviting him into my house like a friend.
What is wrong with me?
The worst is that a part of me wants to. It would take two hands to count the number of times I clicked on his name and started to text him. I type one after another, but then quickly delete each one like some smitten teenage girl who wants to tell her crush how much she likes him.
Pathetic, I know. But unless you count that cute neighbor boy I had a crush on when I was just a kid, and the one guy I dated during freshman year who kicked me to the curb a millisecond after he started rushing a fraternity, I have zero adult experience in this arena. After I got dumped, I focused on my schoolwork, and decided to forget all about the dating scene. Then GP rescued me, and now all that hard work isn’t even factoring into my thoughts anymore.