Save Yourself by H.G. Lynch

under my skin. I hadn’t been able to screw him out of my system, and obviously I wasn’t getting to avoid him, so I was going to have to come up with some other plan to keep myself in check around him, and fast.
     
    I stood outside Subway, impatiently tapping my foot against the cracked pavement—my heel, then my toe, heel, toe, heel, toe. I could tell it was bugging the guy smoking a cigarette next to me, but I just flipped him off when he glared at me. He dropped his fag, stood on it, and walked away. I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket to check the time—again. It was almost quarter to three, and there was no sign of Brogan. I gritted my teeth. I hated waiting.
    Someone walked out of the Subway door next to me, letting out a blast of warm, food-scented air, and my stomach grumbled at me. I hadn’t snagged breakfast before leaving the house, and I was starving. I glanced through the big glass window of the front of the shop, seeing people inside seated at tables with their sandwiches, and almost drooled. Biting my lip, I checked the time again—ten to three.
    Finally, just as I was about to go in and get my own sandwich to relieve the hunger pangs cramping my stomach, someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I whirled around in surprise. Brogan grinned down at me, arrogant and sexy as ever. He was wearing loose, faded jeans with worn Vans trainers and a battered leather jacket over a white t-shirt that clung to the muscles of his chest. His black hair was in disarray, tumbling over his forehead and into his violet eyes. Stubble coated his jaw, creeping up toward his fine cheekbones and around his tempting lips.
    All in all, he looked hot and dangerous like an open flame so beautiful, it begged to be touched. Looking at him, I was amazed I’d dared to touch the flame and gotten away unburned—then again, maybe I hadn’t. I certainly felt burned. There was a heat spreading through my lower stomach, a desire to test that flame again, making my fingers twitch and my body clench with longing.
    Dammit! How did he do that to me just by looking at me? His grin widened as if he could sense my reaction, and I scowled at him. Bastard.
    “You’re late,” I snapped.
    He only seemed more amused by my irritation. “My apologies. Are you hungry?”
    I glared at him for a second before nodding. He moved to the door and held it open for me. Once again, a blast of that warm air hit me and made my stomach clench with a different kind of hunger than the one he caused. I slipped into the sandwich shop, Brogan behind me. He gestured at a table and told me to sit. I gave him my order—veggie patty with peppers and extra cheese on a toasted six-inch Italian roll, no sauce—and he went up to join the queue at the counter.
    He came back five minutes later, carrying two wrapped up sandwiches, and two small bottles of Pepsi Max. The second he handed me my sandwich, I tore off the wrapping and took a huge bite, tasting the warm, soft bread and sticky melted cheese. I moaned in delight as my stomach rumbled its appreciation of the food. Brogan watched me with a small smile and hooded eyes as he unwrapped his own sandwich and passed me one of the Pepsi bottles.
    We ate in silence for a few minutes, and I was surprised at how comfortable it felt just to sit with him. He watched people walk by outside on the street, and as long as he wasn’t looking directly at me, my hormones seemed to be able to control themselves. So I took the chance to watch him while he wasn’t watching me.
    He chewed slowly, his jaw working smoothly while his straight brows pinched together over his eyes thoughtfully. I wondered what on Earth he wanted to ask me so badly. Probably why I’d alibied him out the day before. Problem was, if that was his question, I didn’t have an answer. At least, not a good one. I was still trying to explain it to myself.
    Abruptly, he shifted his eyes back to me, and just like that, my body came alive, like a light bulb