The Firefly Effect Read Free Page A

happy that I'd noticed.
    Probably didn't help that I'd pointed it out to everyone around.
    Still mesmerized, I reach down with one hand to adjust the painful erection struggling to break free from the confines of my jeans. My eyes stray farther south to the hidden folds between her thighs and my fingers linger on my crotch a little longer than necessary. Oh, fuck me – I knew it. I knew it! She shaves her pussy. Either that or she has it waxed.
    Hot damn, I’d love to be the person in charge of that highway maintenance.
    I drop my hand in a hurry, considering it would be pretty hard to explain if she were to wake up and find me standing over her, rearranging my dick like some kind of deviant. For a fraction of a second, some juvenile part of me wonders what would happen if I suddenly starting screaming fire!
    Would she run out of the house naked? Talk about a YouTube-worthy moment.
    Then I decide I really don't relish the idea of having to explain my little prank to the neighbors or the fire department. So that’s out.
    No, this situation requires a more...delicate approach.
    The way I see it, I have a choice. And I need to make a decision fast, before she opens her eyes to see me gawking at her like a deranged creeper.
    Do I turn around and leave and come back later? Do I go outside and ring the doorbell of my own house, introduce myself, pretend that I've just now arrived?
    Or do I listen to the little devil on my shoulder and take a chance?
    There's really no question. After all, this is way too good an opportunity to pass up. What’s the good of catching Felony Melanie in a compromising situation if I can’t use it to pick on her a little?
    This may earn me a black eye but it’s worth the risk.
    Quietly, very carefully, I take a step forward and lower myself beside her.
     
     
     
    ~ Chapter Three ~
     

     
    I was having the loveliest dream.
    And I think maybe I still am, because even before my drowsy eyelids flutter open, I know that he’s here. The faceless man from my dreams. I can feel the heavy scratch of denim as his jeans press against my hip, and there’s a slight shift as he scoots his way closer. I release a sigh of disappointment, knowing that when I open my eyes the illusion will vanish.
    Because that’s the way dreams are. Just when things are getting good, you either wake up or the entire scene suddenly changes without warning. One minute you’re in the throes of passion with Thor, the next you’re stuck in quicksand in the middle of a creepy parking lot while a sock monkey driving a Zamboni tries to run you down.
    Makes you wonder whether your brain’s even wired up right if that’s the kind of random shit your subconscious comes up with.
    Reluctantly, I blink several times, and there he is.
    No longer faceless.
    Perched on the edge of the sofa beside me, strange but somehow familiar, the striking man with the flowing hair looks down at me with an almost amused expression. My first thought is that he resembles a rock star from a music video. I’ve never seen a man with hair like that, except on TV. It’s long and sleek and brown, the color of shiny burnished wood, and gives him an aura of raw sensuality and general badassery.
    Wow, if I came up with this one all on my own then I have to give my imagination a round of applause. Put in the simplest of terms, he’s hot . An attractively sculpted face with a faint shadow of scruff, bottomless dark eyes, a slender body that’s just buff enough to flaunt his masculinity without being pretentious. The tiniest little scar above one eyebrow is the only visible imperfection, and even that trivial flaw I find endearing somehow. If I touch it, will he disappear?
    I watch him expectantly, waiting for him to speak or fade away into the shadows. But he doesn’t do either. Instead he rakes his eyes down the length of my body, then leisurely draws them back up to my face. His only reaction is the nearly imperceptible curve of one corner of his