My heart slammed into overdrive, but I couldn’t seem to make my mouth move.
“No worries,” he said. “I’ll be there in five to refresh your memory.”
The call ended, but all I could do was stare at the phone.
This can’t be happening.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lord. Whoever had been on the other end of that phone was coming to my room. I had to get out of there. Because as much as I loved believing in miracles, those didn’t exist, which meant this guy was some psychopathic stalker, some frigging lunatic who’d convinced everyone he was my boyfriend.
I slipped from the covers and immediately had to brace myself on the edge of the hospital bed. My head pulsed with painful, dizzying jabs. I slowly stood upright and willed myself steady. My ribs and hip were sore, but I’d survive. That was, if I got the heck out there.
I blew out a breath and wobbled to the clear plastic bag with my belongings, hanging on the wall. I had to find my mother. I had to warn her. What if this guy showed up and tried something?
I slipped on my jeans, sweatshirt, and sneakers, not bothering with the other stuff. I grabbed my phone and purse and tiptoed to the door.
I poked my head out, hoping to spot my mother doing rounds, but instead I saw—
The breath whooshed from my lungs. Santiago?
Cue slow motion and avalanche of conflicting, irrational thoughts accompanied by an imminent panic attack.
My stomach and heart squeezed into a brick and then dropped through the center of my body.
Lord, help me.
Because the man I’d invented—correction—the gorgeous man I’d stolen a picture of, stood twenty feet away, speaking to my mother, wearing low-slung faded jeans and a fitted white, button-down shirt.
I stared in wonderment while my eyes infused with his image and branded itself on my brain. He was lust, rock star, tough guy, jock, Prince Charming, and misfit rolled into one dangerous, rugged, well-groomed package. He sent my female brain into a tailspin.
I’ve lost my mind. That gorgeous man is not standing there. That’s not possible!
I willed my heavy feet to move, but my eyes remained glued to him. He was tall—around six three or six four—and, just like in his photo, built like a lean, mean predatory animal with broad shoulders and powerful-looking…everything. Especially those arms. And those legs. And those…yep. Everything. To boot, he stood with the sort of confidence that gave me the distinct impression he really might be deadly. And ate his meat raw. Possibly still squealing.
Santiago, who towered over my mother, leaned down and hugged her. Then my mother said something, and they laughed like old friends.
What? He hugged my mother? What was happening? Did she know him? Was the universe punishing me for lying? If it was, it was totally working. I’d never, ever lie again. This time, I mean it, Santa.
Okay. This was all just too weird. I needed to get the heck out of there to rearrange my head. I slipped into the hallway, walking briskly in the opposite direction of Santiago.
Exit! I flew into the stairwell and made my way outside. The afternoon air felt warm and soothing on my skin. I took in a slow breath to calm my pounding head, but it had the opposite effect. What a wallop I must’ve had.
Okay. Try to think. Where would I go, and how would I get there? I didn’t have my sanity. I didn’t have a clue. I didn’t have much money.
I looked inside my purse. But I still have my keys and a full tank of gas. The school was one block away, as was my car.
Head throbbing and body aching, I half jogged, half hobbled the short distance to my salvation. Everyone was in class, so despite the parking lot being full of vehicles, it had an eerie feel, amplifying my state of panic.
No. Keep calm. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t—
My phone buzzed in my pocket, causing me to jump. I looked at the screen. Shit. Santiago.
No. No. I wasn’t going to answer. My brain knew none of this was real. I only needed to go somewhere and think, calm myself so I’d wake up.
I got to my car and slipped inside. I fumbled with the keys as my hand trembled uncontrollably.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going? Have you lost your fucking mind?” he said, jumping into the passenger seat.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. And I’m pretty sure my mouth hung open.
Santiago stared with those dark eyes surrounded by thick black lashes—the exact ones I remember picking out from some random Internet page and saving to my hard drive. I didn’t know the man, but I knew he was unhappy by the way his broad chest heaved and his nostrils flared like a bull about to gore a matador.