Seven Weeks to Forever (Love / Romance)

Chapter Four

Countdown to The Life-After: seven weeks.

I've never been so thankful for earplugs.

Scratch that. It's intermission I'm thankful for, and it's Riley Davis I'm cursing. As far as I can tell, Mr. Davis didn't have to suffer through the two excruciating warm-up bands that just assaulted my ears. There was no sign of him as I weaved in and out of the crowd during those sets, searching for a glimpse of his too-perfect face.

There wasn't any sign of him in the VIP section, either. Not that I got a good long look at the people sitting there or anything. The beefed-up rent-a-cop in the black T-shirt pounced before I could do more than a quick scan of faces. Standing in the aisle for more than five seconds is a fire hazard, it seems, and he kindly directed me back to the other side of the dividing line. Whatever.

I'm silently cursing Noah, too, for leaving his newspaper open and not bothering to tell me my hunch was all wrong. The Life-After might not be too happy about me cursing him and Riley in my mind, but then, I'm not too happy about the advisor they gave me and all the things he isn't telling me. And let's not even get me started on my feelings about the elusive guy with zero concert etiquette they assigned me to. They can deal with it. Just like I have to deal with being 0-for-2 now, with a few more wasted hours to show for it. Time to bail.

My heels echo against the sidewalk as I walk back in the direction of my car. I study the black cigarette and gum spots that stain the concrete beneath my feet. I don't remember all these spots being here the last time I walked along this part of Sunset Boulevard, years ago. I probably didn't notice then, though, because I was too busy noticing David. This sidewalk is where we met, and that night changed everything.

Hooooooooonnnnnnnnnk.

I jump, trying not to fall off the edge of the sidewalk. Some guy in a Prius leans on his horn and hollers out his open window at me, but I can't make out what he says over the noise of the other cars whizzing by. I forgot about this part of walking down Sunset Boulevard at night. Good times.

I cross the street at the next intersection and go down another block, then round the corner onto a side street. It's not as lit up here as it is on Sunset, but it's quieter and that's good enough for me. Or it is until I'm halfway down the street and a wolf-whistle pierces the air.

"Hey, pretty lady," a voice calls out.

Fantastic.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a few burly men standing in front of an apartment building. So much for leaving the admirers on Sunset. At least these guys don't have a horn to lean on and aren't yelling at the top of their lungs.

I keep walking until I find my path blocked by one of the guys. He reeks of booze and cigarette smoke. I try to twist my lips into a smile, but keep walking. Smiling and saying nothing used to work just fine when I was Anna.

The guy grasps my shoulder, forcing me to stop. His fingertips dig into my skin.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry, beautiful? All the action is that way." With his free hand, he motions in the direction from which I came.

I hold my breath, trying not to inhale the stench coming off him. There's sweat dripping down his forehead, and the look of his eyes tells me he's been doing a lot more than drinking. It takes me a split second to focus and tune into his energy, and I'm careful to keep my energy from connecting with his. The sparks I see surrounding him are weak and almost transparent, even if his physical hold on me is strong. It tells me I need to keep walking.

I gently lift his fingers from my shoulder, leaving him with a polite smile. I get only two steps away before I find myself being spun around. I wince as the guy wrenches my arm.