“Who are you?” she whispers.

I’m speechless. She’s so pretty—her mouth wide and soft, her cheeks flushed, her eyes so bright they burn into me. I slide my other hand around her, to the small of her back, feeling the sweet curve of her hips and her slim waist. She smells of flowers.

I bow my head. Only an inch separates our lips. “Micah,” I whisper. “I’m Micah Owens.” Are you Ev?

But before I say it, my wild run catches up with me, and I start to cough.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

She pulls away as I double over, hacking. At the hospital, the doctor said this might happen—the shortness of breath and coughing. I’ve been out of the woods for a good six months now, but the cough persists.

I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and find her hand on my other arm. Her expression has turned into one of concern.

“Are you all right?”

I nod as I straighten, panting. “Just a cold.”

She frowns but seems to accept my explanation. Her hand releases my arm and rises to my face. I freeze, completely out of my depth—and she touches my cheek, lightly, the sensation barely there. It makes me shudder with longing.

“Micah,” she whispers my name.

She bites her lip, and it’s so distracting I lift my hand and caress her mouth. It’s like the essence of a cloud, unbearably soft. I’m suddenly struck with a breathtaking need to touch my mouth to hers and see if she tastes as good as she smells.

I bend my head, so very close to her, and draw in her smell like oxygen. Roses? Jasmine? I’m not sure, but it’s intoxicating. Warm skin and freshness and one hundred percent beautiful girl.

She pulls back, her gaze uncertain. “Why were you watching me?” she asks.

It jolts me out of my trance.

Fuck. “You remind me of someone,” I rasp.

She studies my face for a long moment, and I wonder if she sees the truth. Then she sighs. “I have to go. I’m late.”

I want to slap myself upside the head. “Wait...”

She steps back before I get a chance to try and save the situation. “Bye, Micah,” she says softly as she turns and hurries toward the bus stop.

“Will you be back tomorrow?” I call after her. “At the donut shop?”

She doesn’t answer as the bus arrives with a squeal of tires, and she climbs in, vanishing into its darkness.

***

Seth comes into my booth after work and cocks a dark brow at me. “Ready?”

“For what?” Sitting on my stool, I stare morosely at the mess on my working station. I know I need to clean and tidy up before I leave Damage Control, but can’t find the energy.

That girl is scared of me. She probably thinks I’m a crazy stalker. And I still haven’t had a chance to ask her name. Dammit.

“Come on, man.” Seth pushes dark strands of hair off his face. He wears black studs in his earlobe and silver bars in the shell of his ear. “Alzheimer’s already? Beers. Pool. Tonight.”

“Beers,” I repeat, the words slowly sinking in. Now I remember Ocean telling me about it. “A new bar nearby. Halo.”

“He remembers! It’s a miracle.” Seth squints at some drawings for tattoos I’ve pegged to the cardboard walls of my cubicle. “Coming?”

“Don’t know.”

“Big fucking surprise,” Seth hisses and turns to go.

“What the hell is your problem?”

He turns, his dark eyes flashing. “My problem?”

Shit. “Hey, man. I just...” I rub the back of my neck. “Fuck. I just don’t feel like it tonight, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay.” He jabs a finger at me. “You’re all broken up over a chick you don’t even know. Seriously, man? Come have a beer with your bros. It won’t hurt, I swear.”

That’s how I find myself nodding sheepishly and following Seth out of Damage Control, because he might be intense and in-your-face, but this time he’s damn right. I need to leave this girl alone, whoever she is, get my head out of my ass and spend some time with my brothers. They have my back, and I’ve got a lot more in common with them than with a hazy memory.

We share nightmares and night terrors. We share a damn shitty past and a frail present, with a sliver of hope for a future. And that sliver is like glue, holding our pieces together. Tying us in an inescapable bond.

The bar isn’t far from Damage Control, just a few streets down. The sign flashes over the entrance, the word HALO inside—what else?—a yellow halo of blinking lights.

How fucking original.

At least the inside is more somber and run-of-the-mill. Black stools at the bar, low tables and chairs. Beer logos are projected on the far wall, changing colors, but otherwise, the lights are dim.

Someone shouts our names, and we make our way in the half-darkness. The flashes illuminate faces, bodies, gestures as we walk by the tables lining the wall. We reach the bar, and Ocean gets up from his stool and clasps hands with Seth. He lifts his brows when he sees me.

“I’ll be damned. Look what the cat dragged in.” Ocean grins and grips my hand in a bone-crushing grip, pulling me toward him and clapping me on the back. “Glad you made it, buddy.”

I frown, trying to pull away, but then the others gather around us—Shane and Jesse, raising their beer bottles in my direction.

In fact, Jesse presses a chilled bottle into my hand, and I take it. He pumps fists with me, and his clear green eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins widely. He’s the result of an awesome gene cocktail. Though his eyes are green, his skin is like coffee with milk, and his smile is so white it’s blinding. Chicks dig it a lot.

When I glance around, I find Seth’s gaze on me. He looks amused. Well, as amused as Seth can possibly look, his thick arms folded over his chest, dark hair hiding his face—but I can tell because he snorts softly and shakes his shaggy head.

“Haven’t seen you at the gym lately,” Jesse says, dragging me to the bar and gesturing at a free stool. “Rafe was asking about you.”

Damn. I’ve been so obsessed with seeing the girl across the street, with speaking to her and finding out if she’s Ev, I stopped all other activity.

“Have you been okay?” Jesse gives me a long look, and I shrug.

“Fine.” On most days I’m okay. The after effects of the disease linger, but I’m getting better.

“Awesome.” Shane takes the stool next to mine and gulps down half his beer. His long black hair is caught at the nape. Silver hoops decorate his ears, from which metal tribal feathers and a small dreamcatcher dangle. “Can’t wait for you to return to the gym, so I get to push your face into the dirt.”

“You wish, asshole.” Rafe has been teaching us self-defense and kickboxing. His friend, Asher, drops by sometimes and helps train us.

“Maybe he’s not done running after skirts,” Shane mutters, deliberately looking at the far wall and tipping up his bottle.

“A specific skirt.” Jesse winks.

Motherfucker. “Shut up.” I scowl at my beer. “It’s not like that.”

“Oooh, I’m scared.” Shane gives a theatrical shiver. “What will Micah do to me if I don’t shut it? My knees are knocking together.”

“Don’t mind Shane. He’s just desperate for pussy,” Seth says from somewhere behind me. “He got carpal tunnel syndrome from wanking off every night.”

Shane growls and gives him the finger.

Jesse chuckles. “Yeah. At least you’re into a real chick, man, not bad porn.”

“I’m not into anyone,” I snap, a bit too loud, and push my beer on the counter. “Cut it out, suckers.”

“Now you’re telling us what we can or can’t say?” Shane fairly snarls at me.

“And if I am?” My fists itch. Maybe a good brawl might take out some of the tension I can feel in my shoulders. “Got a problem with that, asshole?”

This was a motherfucking bad idea. What I want is to stop thinking about her, and they won’t give me a moment’s peace, goddammit.

Especially when Shane curls his lip and says, “Maybe I should go check out this chick that’s got you all twisted up in knots. Say hi.”