The Checklist (Explicit Version)

Chapter 7

   Spotting a sandwich shop a few stores away from me, I quickened my pace—until I heard a familiar, gruff voice bite out my name. "Althea!"

   I came to an abrupt pause when I heard feet pounding against the sidewalk from behind. Not a moment later, Myles came to a stop in front of me, heaving angrily while his small, darkened eyes wandered over me. I couldn't help but do the same to him.

   Myles appeared the exact same since I last saw him—which wasn't surprising and yet, I didn't know what I expected. For him to grow a whole freaking beard in the two days we haven't talked?

   Something close to fear had me nervously treading backward when I realized the last time I saw him, it was with a gun pointing at my friend's chest. I know he didn't do it intentionally, but I couldn't help but feel anxious around someone who's first instinct is to pull out a gun the moment they're faced with something—or someone—unfamiliar to them.

   His eyes flashed with anger when he saw me rocking back. "Are you scared of me?"

   Despite looking angry, he sounded almost... disappointment.

   "No," I choked out before clearing my throat. I wrapped my arms around me when a strong gust of wind blew toward me. "I'm just a jumpy person. I jump around."

   He stared at me plainly, recognizing my obvious lie. But instead of calling me out, he clenched his jaw before shoving a hand into his jacket pocket. I watched with furrowed brows as he took out a grey... is that a toque hat?

   My jaw dropped, and before I realized what was happening, Myles' arms stretched out. He didn't ask my permission before tugging the hat onto my head. I felt his fingers hover close to my ear, almost as if he was making sure they were covered before he pulled himself back.

   Absently, I touched my head. "Why—"

   "I have a hat, you don't," he stated harshly. "I can see your ears getting red from here. You can give it back to me later."

   I nodded but couldn't help but eye him suspiciously.

   "You weren't home."

   For a moment, I blinked. Then blinked again. Weren't. How would he know that unless—

   "Did you go to my house?" I demanded.

   Despite witnessing my apparent anger, Myles' face remained blank. "You ignored my last two messages. We need to talk."

   "Messages? I didn't get any messages." He arched a brow, almost challengingly. With an huff, I slid my bag off my shoulders. I held onto the handle and aimlessly reached inside until I felt my fingers grazing the phone. I pulled it out and... yeah, he texted me thirty minutes ago.

   "I wasn't ignoring you," I admitted sheepishly while sliding my arms through the straps. I lifted my eyes to his and saw him already watching me. "I was at the library, so my phone was off."

   My eyes lingered over his expression before asking slowly, "What did you want to talk about?"

   With a slight cock of his head, he studied me. "You don't like guns." He said this matter-of-factly.

   "No, I love them. I dance around them in my free time, praising the God's for the wondrous gift that is guns. I just love weapons of mass destruction." He didn't find my sarcasm funny, so I dropped my tight smile and sighed. "Myles, I... I grew up Detroit. And I grew up watching the news. Hearing them list all the gun violence in the city? I witnessed someone getting shot in front of me, Myles. In a convenience store. He looked like he was my age."