Out of the Blackness Read Online Free PDF Page B

a dog, hoping mom would take the hint and get us a puppy who could use the big dog house in the back yard, but she never did. After Carl came along, the sun was replaced with rain, the grassy yard became huge water puddles, and the puppy disappeared because the doghouse was really meant for me, until finally I came home from school one day to find my pictures had been taken off the refrigerator, torn up and thrown away. I never drew again. Until yesterday.
    I force the thoughts from my head and go on about my day. Several stacks on the floor are in severe disarray, so I spend a few hours straightening, re-alphabetizing, and dusting them. Between customers, Molly entertains me with an ongoing narrative of yesterday’s high and low points. When she mentions Noah Yates, I start to fidget. Just the sound of his name in the air makes my blood pump a little faster. I recognize the sexual interest even through the innate fear, and it continues to confuse me.
    Sure, some people would find him attractive. He’s obviously tall, muscular and good-looking, none of which bode well for me. He has only been kind in our two—three, if you count the alley—brief interactions, but those were brief, so who knows what sort of monster lurks beneath that placid façade. I’ve been fooled before, although not by someone so gigantic. Still, there is something about him that makes me want to step outside the fear box.
    Molly mentions his name again, but I forestall the conversation I don’t want to have by telling her it’s time for my break. I grab the last Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino from the fridge in the break room, pull on my coat and slip out the backdoor—remembering to wedge it open this time.
    I sit on the bench and sip the cold, sugary coffee drink. I’m still tired from the extended, emotionally draining conversations with Sam yesterday, so I lean my head against the brick wall and close my eyes, inhaling deeply to keep from falling asleep. It’s relaxing out here in the alley. We’re in the middle of the block, so the sound of traffic on the side streets is more rhythmic than overpowering. Luckily, there are no restaurants bordering this alley, so the trash rarely smells. Occasionally, I can hear the yells from the rambunctious furniture guys next door, but they seldom venture out here unless they’re loading a truck for delivery or receiving a new shipment of stock. When they are, I immediately go back inside. I may know my fate, but I feel no desire to tempt it.
    I realize I’ve dozed off with a half-empty bottle in my clumsy hands when a softly called, “Hey,” jerks me awake. How is it that I already recognize that voice? I look for the man and see him leaning casually against the building on the opposite side of the narrow alley. He has one foot propped against the building and his thumbs are hooked in his pockets, leaving the rest of his fingers to nonchalantly outline the gift area in his jeans. I croak out a weak, “Hey,” and watch him nervously as I bring the frap bottle up to drink from it.
    “I missed you at lunch yesterday,” Noah Yates says as he slides down the wall to sit on the ground, those long, thick legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Even his feet are huge.
    I nod, mumble, “Sorry,” and study the pattern on the soles of his boots through my lashes. I don’t have to remind myself to keep an eye on him. It’s instinct. I’ll need to move the instant he does if I hope to make it inside unscathed.
    “Molly said you weren’t feeling well,” he says. “I hope you’re better today?”
    I nod slightly and wish he would just go away.
    “Good,” he says, sounding genuinely pleased. A strained silence enfolds us for forty heartbeats before he says, “I’ve already taken my lunch today, but when I saw you out here, I had to come say hi. I’m really glad you’re feeling better, Avery. I’m off tomorrow, but maybe we could have that lunch together on Friday. I mean, if