Dang Fine Saviors

Let's be spies

Be cool Tori. Be cool.

My heart is on the verge of exploding because I am currently sitting right next to Slate on the benches watching practice.

I realize that I was nervous for all of the wrong reasons.

I am usually cool in these situations but our last encounter at the party is stressing me out and Slate is just altogether major sketchy.

Between asking me if I had "marks" and doing that weird ace voodoo at the party I have no idea what to expect.

He could be a dangerous killer for all I know.

An extremely attractive, tan skinned, green eyed killer.

But still a killer is a killer.

At that thought I make what foot we have between us into a foot in a half.

And as much as I want to brush it off and say I am being dramatic, I know it's not true. Slate is most-likely not a murderer but something has to be going on.

I want to ask him about it but coach is close enough for listening distance so I say, "I need to talk to you later."

He turns to face me, "about how I am such a big distraction for you with my shirt? I got the jist."

His green eyes never fail to surprise me but I act like they don't have an impact on me, "No and I told you, I was worried about the other girls. I want to talk about how sketchy you are."

I say it how I say most things: bluntly.

He bites his lip then looks at me humorously, "how sketchy I am?"

I look at him impatiently, "yes."

He looks like he's holding in a laugh and lazily puts his arm behind my head on the backrest of the bench, "and what if I don't want to tell you?"

I grab his wrist from behind me and set his arm back to the seat, "then I guess I will just have to find out by myself."

***

At the end of practice I have an hour before my work shift starts so I decide to dedicate that time to spy on Slate.

I invite Missy but she is babysitting for her sisters.

I get in the car and turn on I Know Places by Taylor Swift because besides my sibling's opinion, I feel like that's a spy song and in order for this to work I need to get in the zone.

I pull out of the parking lot right behind his gray Hummer so that I know which direction he's going.

He goes right so I follow but put a car between us so that he won't notice.

I knew one day all of those marathons of PLL and Mission Impossible would pay off.

He goes right again. And so do I.

And again.

And again.

And we are back to the high school.

"Frick he knows," I mutter to myself.

He slows down and waves cheekily trough the window, I respond by cutting him off and giving him the finger.

Well that plan failed.

Instead of trying again, I give in, this time I go left, the direction of work.

***

Just my luck, when I have ten minutes until my shift ends, Slate walks through the door.

"What are you doing here?" I ask crossly, hoping my manager won't see me rudely addressing a customer.

"Lucas wanted me to pick up a cinna-stick for him and I wanted to tell you not to spy on me," he shrugs.

"I wasn't sp--" he cuts me off, "so just a cinna-stick how much is that?"

You little beshaun.

I groan, "two forty five."

"Okay," he says and hands me two dollars and two quarters, "oh yeah and you can keep the change."

I put the money in the register and take out the nickel, "oh wow. Five cents, how generous," I say in a low voice sarcastically.

He walks to the seating area and a few minutes later someone brings him his order and he comes over, drops a one dollar bill into my tips and says, "Don't follow me, okay?"

I roll my eyes.

He walks out the glass door and bumps into some guy who is startlingly familiar.

Slate is furious to see him and they look like they are in a heated argument, but Slate seems to be winning. In the end the man looks like he gives in and Slate seems somewhat pleased.

The man starts walking away and so does Slate. In seconds they are out of sight.

But minutes later the same man walks back into the cafe and looks behind his shoulder as if he is worried he is being watched.

He sits down and I try to put my finger on why he looks so familiar.

He seems like he is probably in his early twenties, he has olive skin, a rough build, and little facial hair. Handsome. He wears a black and white plaid shirt and dark jeans. Who is he?

When I am about to look away he looks up and makes eye contact with me. Even though we are across the restaurant from each other it is memorizing. For a few seconds, for some unexplainable reason, I am incapable of breaking the eye contact. But he does and I am taken out of the haze.

For some reason, after that he just gets up and leaves.

I hurry to the back and ask someone to cover my last three minutes and take off my apron. This is my chance.

If I can't follow Slate I guess I'll just have to follow his friends.

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Short filler chapter. Sorry. But I wanted to update and say three cheers for being 208 in paranormal! I'm not sure if that's a big deal, but placing anywhere is cool right? ha. Anyway, I'm going to update soon, and be sure to vote so we can build the DFS empire. We will rule the world. haha just kidding. That was too far.

So I lengthened the last chapter and edited because I didn't really like how it turned out, you don't have to reread because the story doesn't depend on it but if you want you're welcome to.

Anyway,just so you know, I love you guys and I hope you are okay with the chapter and will vote anyway:)

What are your thoughts? Who could this mystery man be?