Fate Book by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Page B

and…
    Holy shit.
    There, standing in front of the station, leaning against a signpost that said Police Parking Only, stood Santiago. Son of a bitch! He’s a demon from hell!
    Well, he couldn’t stop me from going in. I wouldn’t let him control me. No, not again.
    I marched straight for him, glaring with every step. Three steps from the door, a uniformed officer stepped out. The officer handed Santiago a large white envelope and shook his hand.
    “Next time, don’t wait so long to stop by,” said the officer. “You know the door’s always open.”
    My mouth hung open, and I stared with disgust. He had the SDPD in his pocket, too?
    “Hey, John. I’d like you to meet Dakota Dane. The young lady I told you about.”
    The officer looked me over. “Is she all right? She looks a little pale?”
    Santiago snickered under his breath. “She’s a bit overwhelmed with the new campus, and it’s her first time away from home.”
    “Well,” said the officer to me, “just stick with Santiago here, he’ll make sure you stay out of trouble.” He slapped Santiago on the arm. “See you later.”
    I couldn’t believe this.
    I headed back to my car, refusing to turn around and look at those dark eyes. Likely he was smiling. Oh yes, with that mouth I wanted to punch.
    I got into my red VW, put on my seat belt, and sucked in a breath. This couldn’t be happening. It just…couldn’t.
    Back on the road, I ground my teeth and clenched the steering wheel so tightly that my palms burned. My rage had me completely unable to think straight. I wanted to kick that man. I wanted to jump on him and throttle his neck. I wanted him thrown in jail.
    I thought about returning to the dorms, but I didn’t want to hide in my room like a prisoner in my own life, so I headed back to the party.
    A night like this called for shots.
    ~ ~ ~
    Confession time. I’d never had a drink before. Not a beer, glass of wine, or even a sip of a pink froufrou drink while my mother wasn’t looking. That’s why when Bridget handed me her red plastic cup, instructing me to wash the horrible tequila taste away, I chugged.
    “Oh no, Dakota! I said wash it away, not down the entire cup.” She reached into my jean pocket and snagged my keys. “Guess you won’t be needing these.”
    “Why? I only had one shot. I’ll be fine to drive in a few hours.”
    “Right. You have the look of someone who’s just warming up.”
    Not really. Something that tasted so bad would have no way of making the situation better. Bottom line, either I was crazy or Santiago was some sort of super-stalker with mystical powers.
    Worst of all, he was right. I had wished him back. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, writing about him. His face. His body. His voice. Every night I dreamed of him, and no matter how angry I felt, no matter what my rational mind told me, the little part of my body that ruled my fantasies couldn’t be shut off. Now, seeing him live produced some sort of Pavlovian response. I smelled him, my mouth watered. I saw him, my body tensed in places that had no business tensing. I heard his voice, pinpricks exploded over my skin.
    Yes. I knew this wasn’t normal in any way, shape, or form. I had found his picture online, claimed he was my boyfriend, and then he appeared in my life for a few days and promptly disappeared. Now he was back, and within seconds, my reality had turned into a hot, scrambled mess. Mentally and physically.
    Judge me all you want, world, but there is no dancing around this. I am fucked. And no… “A tequila shot won’t save me,” I added to myself.
    “You didn’t have just one shot, you had six.” Bridget laughed.
    “Huh?” My mind bounced back to the here and now, but wasn’t following.
    “That cup you drank was pure tequila mixed with grenadine and a splash of pineapple.”
    Oh. So I’d just chugged down an entire semester’s worth of shots. Great.
    “Hey. Your cup is empty. Can I get you another?” A blond guy appeared