I’m about to suggest we leave again, but since he wasn’t open to it the last time, I pull my phone out. If he isn’t cooperating, I’ll text Brina for an emergency SOS while he’s not paying attention.
He grins. “I see why you like this room.”
I finish punching Brina’s number in and glance up from my phone. Is my dread showing?
“You do?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah, sure, c’mere.” He tugs on my hand that’s suddenly in his grasp.
I stumble forward on my toes and barely catch myself before I fall. My phone slides out of my hand, facedown.
Fuckity. Can this day get any worse?
Before I can bend down to grab it, he’s scooped it up with another one of his all-too-punchable laughs.
“Chill. I’ll hold this for you, so you don’t have to worry about dropping it again.”
I reach for it with my free hand. “It’s okay. I’ll just shove it back in my purse.”
“Relax, babe. I’ve got it. I told you, didn’t I?” He pulls me forward again with a harsher yank.
I definitely don’t like the odd shift in tone.
Before I realize what’s happening, we’re heading straight to the corner of the room with black-and-white shots of the Sears slash Willis Tower, an architectural feat in its day.
“You like the Willis Tower?” I ask, hating the spring in his step.
“Huh? I mean, I guess. It’s like, the tower. What’s not to like?”
“It’s not going anywhere,” I say. “Slow down. It’ll still be there for us in a few seconds.”
“What will?”
“The photo.”
Holy crap. I’ve never been so ready to slap another human being.
“You’re nuts, babe,” he says with that insufferable smile.
What is happening?
Literally the only thing in this corner is the massive black-and-white photo of the once Sears Tower and a photo booth that lets you take a picture against it. But no one ever does that since you could just go take a picture outside the real tower for free. The dude is acting like a tourist.
Except he doesn’t stop dragging me along until we’re on the other side of the photo booth.
The room is dimly lit. There’s a photo booth on one side of me, a wall behind us, and another wall on the other side. Only my back is visible to anyone else in the room—the empty room—and that’s when my pulse picks up with fear.
He’s cornered me. He has my phone. Heat climbs up my cheeks.
“Nothing back here. We should rejoin the exhibit,” I say, halfway in denial about my dumb predicament turning scary.
He’s a friendly drunk. He’s probably just being stupid, I tell myself. Surely, he wouldn’t be crazy enough to try—
Nameless lets go of my hand.
Sweet relief.
I’m about to back away and lead us to the center of the room so I can get my phone back and fly out of here. But his arms close around my waist before I can make a move.
He pulls me closer, and his lips drop toward mine, falling below my ear instead. Sloppy whiskey lips.
Jesus, no!
I keep my lips tightly closed and back away from him, mustering up a scream. “What are you doing? Are you insane? We’re in public.”
Again, that sickening laugh.
“Babe, you’re so uptight. Trust me.” His lips go for mine.
Aaand I lose it.
I’m boneless, jerking and wiggling, trying to break out of his hold, but he’s freaking strong. I stomp on his toes and lurch back, but he must have released the pressure of his arms because this time I spring backward.
My ankle turns almost all the way around. “Oww!”
Then I conk my head on a sculpture.
It hurts too bad to move, and my ankle starts throbbing. I linger there for a minute on my knees, head leaned against a marble statue, because I’m in too much pain to move.
I inch my head back and rub it, forcing my eyes open to see what I hit.
Only, all I see is rock covered in smooth black cloth.
Not good.
I must have hit my head harder than I thought. I’m seeing things.
If there was a human statue in this room, I’d remember it. Even weirder, the sculpture slides back at the same time its powerful hands hook under my arms and bring me to my feet.
“Can you stand?” a deep voice asks.
A man.
The words swirl in my head for a moment. I blink a few times and realize this is my chance to get away from Nameless the Psycho and get my phone back.
I hope he plays along. “Oh! Oh, Max. Thank God you’re here. I haven’t seen you since that day with Angela.”
“Angela?” he asks.
Crud. He’s not young and hip enough to know the common code for help, get me out of here. I turn my head to face my rescuer for the first time.
My stomach drops.
King Grumpyface with the princely brown hair and scourging eyes is holding me.