Page 10 of Cruel Pleasures
“No,” he answers flatly. The smile’s slid off his face. “I mean dolphins. The cute, squeaking ones like fucking Flipper. They’re the ones that’ll take you by surprise.”
“Why does this feel like you’re talking about yourself?”
“Me? I’m no dolphin.” He blows a raspberry, clutching the glass beer bottle in his hand. “Everyone knows I bite. I’ve never pretended otherwise.”
“Either you’re dropping the weirdest pick up line known to mankind, or you know nothing about women.”
“I’ve gotten you to talk to me, haven’t I?” he asks, and then he winks at me. “And I bet I can get you to let me buy you another margarita.”
I glance down at mine and find it near empty. Just one more gulp of watery slushy remains. “This was my one for the night.”
“On tonight of all nights? Not the go out with a bang type?”
I stare at the man for a second before it hits me. He, like many of the others in this bar, will be flying out tomorrow morning. The last flight off the Isle of Hurst for the rest of the season—not counting the flights that’ll be arranged for Midnight Society members once the annual event is over.
He’s out to party like everyone else on their last night of vacation.
I toss back the slushy remains of my margarita and feel the cool chill down my throat.
How bad could another hour or two be?
I was already planning on checking into Hurst Manor tomorrow…
“One more,” I concede. “But first you tell me your name.”
His grin returns, his face framed by the ear-length sandy hair. “The name’s Kaden.”
Three words that trigger an immediate reaction out of me—an explosion of heart palpitations and unfettered nerves eating up the insides of my stomach. I throw myself out of the stool as if wrenched off by a giant invisible hand.
You’d think I were in imminent danger the way I pitch backward.
The jerky move catches the attention of several onlookers, who glance in my direction with furrowed brows and judging stares.
But the only thing I can see is the confused smile of the man who just told me his name was Kaden.
Kaden.
It can’t be…
“Did I say something wrong?” he laughs softly. “You look like I just told you I’m Satan.”
“Excuse me. I… I need to…”
I don’t even bother finishing my sentence. I shoulder my way through the rest of the crowd in the bar. At the very back is a sparsely lit narrow hall that splinters off into the stockroom and the men’s and women’s restrooms. I choose the door marked with an illustrated woman in a dress and shove the doors open.
The room’s empty, your standard little public restroom in a bar. Two stalls, the left one with a lock that’s visibly broken. Two chipped sinks with two foggy mirrors and a single paper towel dispenser in between.
I take a few seconds to compose myself. Though I’m not breathing in fresh air—the chemical lemon fragrance from the air freshener does little to mask the permanent urine stench of a public restroom—I feel better the longer I stand still.
I overreacted. The man might be named Kaden, but he’s not Kaden Kaden. Lyra’s Kaden. Kaden Raskova. I’ve seen what he looks like, both in person and in picture, and that man was not him.
“You are being ridiculous,” I mumble through gritted teeth. “Remember you’re supposed to be cool and collected? If you’re already freaking out before you’ve even made it to the Midnight Society event, how the fuck are you going to deal with those people?”
Kaden is waiting for me outside of the restroom when I leave. I stop short.
“What are you doing out here?”
“You ran off out of nowhere,” he says. “Nobody in the bar knows who you are. The bartender said you were alone?—”
