Beg Me to Slay by Unknown

girlfriend’s eviscerated body outweighed the temptation, though, and he kept his distance.
    “Think I should wear one of those button-downs?” Before she could correct him, he added, “ If I were going with you.”
    She lifted a dark brick-red shirt from the rack and held it up to his chest, her fingers so close to his neck he could feel the warmth of her skin. Electricity zipped through him, but neither of them closed the distance to touch.
    “This one would look great on you.” She hung it back on the rack. “Too bad you won’t be going.”
    He reached over to grab the shirt, his hand covering hers on the hanger. The touch jolted him. “Why don’t I get it just in case?”
    She slipped her hand out from under his and shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
    He watched her hips sway as she walked away. She didn’t swing them like most of the beach chicks he hooked up with. Those women were a distraction, a way to scratch an itch. Tegan was more his type. Not that he had a type, not anymore.
    She walked with purpose and strength, inherently feminine, but she buried it, tempting him to entice it out of her. Seeing her in nothing but a towel today multiplied the unwelcome attraction. Her soft skin begged to be touched. Thinking about it shot heat to his groin.
    Not helping . Gabe ground his teeth, pulled out his wallet, and made his purchases.
    Bag in hand, he convinced Tegan to have lunch with him. She surprised him by choosing Buca di Beppo. He didn’t take her for the loud, crowded restaurant kind of woman. Seated in their booth, with a pizza and linguine on order, he poured her a glass of wine from the carafe while an old recording of Frank Sinatra serenaded them in the background.
    “You come here often?” He glanced over at an alcove dedicated to the pope, complete with pictures and a bust of the holy man in the corner.
    “Nope.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “Just thought it might be loud enough to cover the awkward silence.”
    He took a swallow of his beer. “Are you telling me you want me to shut up?”
    “I’m telling you it’s been four years since I’ve been out to a meal with a guy I’m not related to. It’s going to be awkward.”
    “Doesn’t have to be.”
    The waiter stopped by with their food and Tegan shot him a relieved smile.
    Once they both had plates full of Italian food, Gabe caught her eyes. “Ask me something.”
    She pondered for a moment, swallowing her pasta. “Okay, when did you find out you were a slayer?”
    The chunk of pizza he swallowed turned into a garlic-dipped rock in his stomach. “When I turned eighteen. Next question.”
    “That’s it?” She tore off a piece of garlic bread. “Did you just get a notice in the mail?”
    “I came home and found my parents’ bodies torn apart and ‘slayer’ written in blood on the wall.” He chugged the rest of his beer, wishing it were whiskey. He needed something to numb the emotions brewing. The mug thunked against the table, and he noticed that her smile was gone.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Tegan shifted in her seat, her gaze falling to the food in front of her. “I thought I was going to die the night he attacked me. It was my birthday.”
    He wasn’t sure why she finally decided to open up about her attack. He had bared a scar; maybe this was her way of evening the score. Seeing the distant look in her eyes, he kept quiet and waited for her to go on. Frank Sinatra kept crooning about witchcraft, shielding their conversation from the sparse lunch crowd seated randomly throughout the restaurant.
    Her lashes fluttered, and her gaze lifted and locked on his. “I met him in a club. I was out celebrating, dancing with a group of girls from college. He seemed polite, not grab-assing any of us on the dance floor.” She reached for her wine and knocked it back. When she set her glass on the table her hands trembled. “He said he wanted to talk. It was too loud in the club so we went outside.” She