I have no idea how to respond, so I just stand there in the doorway while he gives the guys parting fist bumps and handshakes. Then he’s heading my way, and I quickly slip through the door and start down the hall.
I can feel him walking behind me. His proximity makes heat rise in my stomach.
What is wrong with me? He’s just walking with me, for god’s sake.
“See ya later, Nora,” Morgan says from the front desk as I walk by. “Bye, Dex.” Her voice takes on a feminine edge, and when I glance over at her, she’s watching Dex like a lioness about to devour her prey.
He smiles back but doesn’t say anything as he slips his mirrored sunglasses on and eases around me to push through the door. I step through after him, and then we’re on the sidewalk in the weirdly warm winter air.
“Um, I’m parked over here,” I say, pointing vaguely in the direction of my car.
“Sweet.” He puts his hands in his tight jeans pockets, then steps off the curb toward my Honda.
I follow a step after him, trying not to admire his long legs and easy stride.
Why is he even doing this?
When we get to my car, I quickly unlock it and slip my case into the back, then close the door and turn to face him.
“Well, I—”
“Are you on Tribe?” he asks suddenly.
When I look up at him, all I see is myself reflected in his sunglasses—straight hair, brown eyes, a splash of freckles across my nose. A silver cross hangs from one of his earlobes, and the hint of a chain is visible beneath the neck of his baggy hoodie.
“Uh, yeah.”
“What’s your handle?” He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, and I’m momentarily shocked into silence.
Dex Reid, the lead singer of Loaded God Complex, wants to know my social media handle? This can’t be real life. And I don’t have many photos on there anyway—mostly violins and Margot and the rare selfie.
My long pause causes him to arch a sandy-blond brow at me, and I stutter out my handle for him to look up. His thumbs fly across his phone. Slowly, a furrow forms in his brow.
“You’re not following me,” he says. It almost sounds like a question, but not enough for me to reply.
No, I’m not following him. I’m not the type of person to follow insanely rich, good-looking celebrities on social media. That’s a perfect way to obliterate my self-confidence, and I struggle with that enough as is. No thanks.
A moment later, my phone dings in my pocket, and when I pull it out to look at the notification, my heart thuds hard.
@DexxxReid followed you
I just stare at the notification for a second, too shocked to say anything.
“Aren’t you going to follow me back?” His voice has a playful edge to it, and his lips are quirking up in the corner again. A breeze swirls around us, making his long blond hair and silver cross earring shift in the air. The metal catches the light and gleams.
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
I hit the button to follow him, regretting it all the while. Now how am I supposed to avoid looking at pictures of his ridiculous abs and stupid sexy tattoos when he’s all over my feed? Maybe I’ll mute him later.
Resigning myself to my fate, I lower the phone and look into his reflective sunglasses again. I hate those things; they’re unnerving. All I can see is my own pout and the crease in my brow.
But what’s even more unnerving is Dex’s self-assured smile.
Does he know he’s getting under my skin?
We’re still standing there in silence when a car comes rolling up beside us. It’s a sleek black BMW, and when the driver’s window rolls down, it reveals a brunette with brick-straight hair that looks right out of a shampoo commercial.
“See you around,” Dex says, slipping his phone into his pocket again and backing toward the BMW. “And Nora . . .”
Hearing him say my name does things to my insides that can’t be good for me.
“Hmm?”
“Try not to fall in love with me.” His smile is sharp, and his lip ring winks in the sunlight before he turns and gets into the passenger’s side.
Meanwhile, the brunette gives me a scathing look and rolls her window back up.
A second later, the car speeds out of the parking lot, and I’m left standing next to my Honda with what I can only assume is shock written all over my face.
Once again, my phone dings in my pocket, and this time when I pull it out, I find I’ve got a new comment on one of my pictures of Margot.
@DexxxReid: cute pussy
My cheeks flame with heat. Already, I’m tempted to block him. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to do it.
Call it curiosity.
Or stupidity.
