When I’d first seen Bob, I’d been scared out of my mind, frozen in place when he stepped out from among the trees. Dark-haired and with eyes the color of the sky, he’d been as big as the superheroes in the stash of comics that my grandfather had in his office that I’d been warned away from ever touching.
I’d touched them a lot.
Bob had claimed to live further down the lake, and I hadn’t thought to question him, because the world was too big then for me to know that there were no cabins or houses there, other than my grandparents’. The first time we’d met, he’d talked about the catfish in the lake and the bigger fish he’d seen in the oceans, telling me stories that had fascinated me. I’d liked him and had been happy when he’d returned the following week, on the same day at the same time, bearing candies. A once-a-week ritual had started, and being relatively friendless with the exception of the random new kid in town who’d either never stayed around long or stayed nice, Bob had become my best friend over the course of a summer.
And the baby dolls that he’d brought me had helped.
Even to my young eyes, they had appeared rare and expensive—as if he’d gathered them around the world—because the pretty, painted faces had come from many cultures I’d never heard of.
Looking back, I totally saw how creepy all of that was, but then, I’d been so starved for friendship, I probably would’ve warmed up to the Grim Reaper if he’d wiggled his bony fingers at me.
Truth.
The friendship had ended when my grandfather had stumbled upon us one afternoon. Bob had been sitting cross-legged by me, showing me how to fold grass between my fingers and turn it into a whistle. Needless to say, Pappy freaked and I’d been carted away from the lake. They’d found the dolls, and all of them had gone into the trash. Mom had cried for some reason, and then I was sat down and taught all about the whole stranger-danger thing.
I’d never seen Bob again.
I’d collected more weirdos over the years, like the old lady who was always at the convenience store when I was stocking up on junk food because my grandparents were health-food nuts. Somehow we’d struck up an oddball friendship—me, her, and her nine cats. Then, there had been the high-school librarian. She’d been the closest thing to a BFF I’d ever had.
There had been more, and as ridiculous as it sounded, sometimes I wondered if there was some innate crazy that other crazy folks could sense in one another, like a homing beacon. So I guessed I shouldn’t have been so surprised by a random, crazy— albeit hot—guy running into me on a campus with thousands of people.
I entered my dorm and took the elevator the ten floors up. Adjusting my bracelets, I shifted from foot to foot, impatient. When the elevator stopped, I barreled out the doors and almost knocked down a smaller girl. She stumbled back, catching herself on the opposite wall.
“Sorry. So sorry,” I said, wincing as she righted herself. “Really sorry.”
“No biggie.” She smiled as stepped in the elevator.
Shaking my head, I pivoted around and walked down the long hall to my dorm room. As I reached the door, the shiver was at the base of my spine again, dancing its way up until it traveled across my shoulders. My heart turned over heavily and I closed my eyes.
Twice in one day.
Oh God.
I’d never felt this more than once in any span of several days. Swallowing hard, I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob, battling the urge to turn and scan the hall, because I knew no one would be there.
Dragging in a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped inside the room. My brows flew up, and I forgot about the feeling as I closed the door behind me.
Erin was sprawled on the floor, palms pressed down on a mat, her spandex-covered behind jutting up toward the sky. She turned her head, peering at me from under her armpit.
Her armpit.
“How in the world do you get your neck to bend like that without killing yourself?” I asked.
“Skills, yo.”
Erin did yoga and meditation religiously, saying it helped merge her yin and yang together or something. She’d once told me she had a hell of a mean streak, and contorting herself into painful-looking positions helped keep “good vibrations” around her. Which was strange, because I’d never seen Erin lose her temper in the two years I’d known her.
Erin unfolded herself from some kind of downward dog or upward pony and grinned at me. “Check under the bed.”
Curious, I dropped my bag and stepped over her legs. Bending down, I lifted the bedspread and my eyes grew to the size of saucers when I spotted the bottle. I snatched it up and clutched it to my chest as I whipped toward her. “José!”
Her grin spread into a smile. “The best boyfriend ever.”
Standing in the middle of the penthouse suite in the hotel not too far from Radford, I yelled for Apollo for the fourth time since I’d walked through the door.
Finally, there was an answer in the form of a fissure of energy permeating the room. Warm air blew over the back of my neck. I spun around, cursing when I saw Apollo standing right there. As in, he’d zapped himself into the room practically on top of me.
“Gods,” I barked. “There’s at least eight hundred square feet in here, buddy, you didn’t need to land on my ass.”
Apollo snickered as he folded his arms. “You called?”
I squared off with the god. We were nearly the same height, putting him at maybe an inch or two over my six-foot-four. “Who is she?”