Page 132 of Even Beneath the Stars

Her nostrils flare. Cheeks flush.

Shit.Wrong thing to say.

"Aren't you going to offer to tell my fortune?" she asks, the ice in her gaze freezing me on the spot as she sits crossed-legged on the ground in front of me. "I sure hope it's good," she purrs in a way that sounds like a threat. "Because my night so far has been crap."

I force myself to hold her gaze; to arch an eyebrow at her like her sudden appearance is mildly amusing. But, shit, it’s hard. Faking disinterest with the girl who is always the most interesting person in the room is no small feat.

I remind myself; I’m doing this for a reason. That this may be hard, but it’s better for her this way. And easier formeto do it now, rather than dragging it out like some love-sick douche and having her leave me weeks from now, or months from now, once she realizes she can do so much better than me. A guy whose default is to disappoint and mess up. The opposite of measuring up to her level.

"You want me to tell you your fortune?" I drawl almost lazily, now that my composure has mostly scraped itself off the floor.

Maggie eyes me venomously. "Actually, on second thought, I think I'd like to be the one to enlighten you with my prediction foryourfuture." Her narrowed eyes challenge me. "I mean, as long as you aren't too inebriated to switch things up last minute?"

Fuck. Me.

"Sure thing," I say. "As long as you pay your offering, I'm cool with whatever."

I'm shooting for unbothered, but pretty sure I over-shot with that last one and landed squarely in asshole territory.

"Oh." She narrows her eyes even more. "I think I've more than 'paid my dues." She gets a borderline evil glint in her eye. "But since you're so insistent…" She lifts her forearm, bent at the elbow, and flips me the middle finger. "How's this for an offering?"

I smirk. Honestly, I can't decide if she's scaring the hell out of me right now or making me fall harder for her.

Pretty sure falling harder.

"Good enough," I tell her.

"Awesome." She leans forward, elbows resting on her knees. "So, here's my prediction for you." She edges even closer.

So close, I can feel her breath brush my jaw. Something pulls in my chest, and I ache to lean in and meet her halfway.

She arches an eyebrow. "I predict that sometime in your very near future, you will lose out on something that could have been amazing." She pauses, and I inhale a slow breath. "Something that could have been fuckingspectacular… With someone who really cared about you. And thought you were more than some shallow rich party boy.” Her breath hitches, and it fuckingkillsme. She finishes, "But who was clearly mistaken."

And there it is….the disappointment.

She's bang-on with her prediction, but also a little late to the party. My father already predicted the whole 'colossal disappointment' thing.

I suck my lip between my teeth, avert my eyes for a second, raking a hand through my hair. "Shit, Maggs, I can't—"

"Well, that's it for my prediction." She stands, rubbing her palms against her thighs. "I'll be on my way now. You obviously have a whole lineup of girls here to get through, and I wouldn't want to ruin this whole…" She swirls her finger in the vicinity of the scene in front of us. "Swamp-fest… thing you have going on here." She nods. "Happy fortune telling."

She turns without waiting for my reaction and starts towards the swamp. Then swivels suddenly, and strides back, trailing brown muck across the white marble. She leans right into my face. "Oh, one final prediction: if you wake Finn up with this little shindig, I predict you will wake up tomorrow morning with gravel down your Calvins, both eyebrows shaved off, and a giant eggplant sprawled on your forehead in permanent marker."

She whips around, ducks to pick up her ugly yellow boots and strides right back through the swamp, then down the hall. Doesn't even bother wiping offher feet. Which is almost as concerning as the lines she just delivered that leave me feeling like she just gutted me, then dragged my entrails through the sludgy cesspool at my feet.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Xavier

Itake the stairs two at a time, my feet leaving muddy prints on the white marble. A metaphor too cliché even for me to laugh at—the way I muddy up everything I touch.

The house spins a little, and my thoughts slosh around inside my head, sluggish and liquor-logged. I pause at the top, steadying myself against the wall.

What am I even doing? Maggie made it clear she's done with me.Disgustedwith me.

Another outcome my father predicted.

So, this is good, right? And yeah, it hurts. But surely a fast-track to where I was going to end up anyway is less painful than a long drawn-out journey to the same place.

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