Page 110 of Graves

His disarming smile makes it easy for me to smile back.

“I don’t want to keep you any longer,” he says. “It was great seeing you. I’d really love to grab coffee sometime.”

“We’ll see,” I reply before he turns and walks down the street.

I stand there for a while, watching him go. Right before he glances over his shoulder, I turn to Pixie.

With a heavy feeling in my stomach, I open the gate beside Muvi’s and walk through the courtyard to our building.

I need a moment to process what just happened. The familiarity between Luke and me felt like we’d seen each other only yesterday.

When I press the elevator button, I notice my hands are sweaty. My breathing is shaky and my head feels empty.

What the hell just happened?

The question echoes inside me, unanswered.

The second I step into the apartment, I lean back against the door.

Everything I thought I’d achieved—having control, being stronger than a year ago—shatters into a thousand pieces. My heart pounds as my thoughts spin like a storm. Luke’s words echo in my head like a dangerous spell.

I let Pixie off the leash in the elevator. She runs barking down the hallway and disappears through the open crack into Aran’s studio.

The little Yorkie has clearly fallen for him, but that’s not why she’s barking excitedly.

“Since when did you get into dogs?” I hear an amused male voice ask.

“I’m not—” Aran doesn’t finish the sentence.

“I thought after the thing with Rufus you didn’t want anything to do with dogs anymore.”

“I didn’t!”

Rufus?

I suspected Aran wasn’t a dog-hater—he handled Pixie well on our walk, and he can’t deny he likes her now.

The studio door opens. Aran carries Pixie out. Behind him, a blond guy is grinning on the couch. If I’m not mistaken, it’s the drummer from Grave Sinner. He rubs his nose and takes a relaxed sip of beer.

Aran walks past me and sets Pixie down between the kitchen and dining table. She runs to the couch and makes herself comfortable in her spot.

When Aran turns back to me, he pauses and studies me with slightly narrowed eyes. I just stand there, looking at his pale face. Are the marks on his neck even darker now? Is that even possible?

“What happened?” he asks.

I blink. “You’re asking me that?”

“You seem different than before.”

I exhale. “Why do you care?”

“You were gone almost two hours and now you’re a different person. I can tell something happened. Are you okay?”

Is he actually worried about me?

Or does he suspect something?

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I say, walking past him into the living room to grab my laptop.