Page 25 of First Verse

I smother a pang of disappointment and smile. “Sounds good.”

“You’re the best.” She hugs me before hurrying to meet Tyler halfway. He waves at me; I lift a hand, then watch them until Lily gives me a thumbs-up behind her back, signaling that I’m officially dismissed.

I normally love her independence. I’m a lone wolf as well, so it works for us. But right now I wish I’d had the courage to be as honest with her in the car as she was with me. I could have told her I’m not as confident as I pretend to be. That it’s been so long since I was a part of this scene, I’m not sure how to act.

With a mental sigh, I decide to give myself a tour of the house. Maybe I’ll run into Michael or someone I know, or maybe I’ll cut out early and head home to work on songs. Despite the prospect of driving alone in the dark, I’d actually prefer the latter.

Plan in place, I turn and take a step… right into a tall, broad-shouldered body. My face hits the middle of a hard chest, which rises on a swift inhale. I jerk back, but it’s too late to prevent his midnight storm scent from invading my nose.

Steeling myself, I look up into narrowed, freckled green eyes.

“What are you doing here, Evangeline?”

CHAPTERNINE

evangeline

You used to be my lullaby

Your smile my favorite lie

I would have given you the sky

But all you wanted was goodbye

Iyank my arm from Wilder’s hold the second the door closes behind us. My skin hums from shoulder to wrist, like the contact sank through my leather jacket and top and is spreading like a toxin. I instinctively move away from him, deeper into the small room. A few seconds of disorientation later, my eyes finally partner with my brain to tell me where we are.

“Really? A bathroom?”

“It was the closest option.”

His voice is calm. Unnervingly so. Despite that, the rich tone causes an immediate physical reaction.Panic.The walls of the arguably spacious bathroom seem to pulse closer, spiking my blood pressure. Not helping is the fact he’s blocking the door, one shoulder resting on a brick wall painted as black as his heart.

I can’t seem to make myself look at his face, so I focus instead on the fingers he’s currently rubbing against his denim-clad thigh like they’re tainted. The same fingers that were around my arm.

His hand stills, then he shoves up his long sleeves and crosses his arms over his chest. I stare at his muscled, veiny forearms, the golden skin now covered liberally with ink. My roaming gaze snags on a hyper-realistic lighthouse, the artistry as distinctive and familiar as that on the wall in the living room.

For a second, I forget the last three years—forget that he’s a stranger. My mom’s brother, Josh Marshall, is a world-renowned tattoo artist, and Wilder has been begging him to work on his skin since he was eighteen.

A smile quirks my lips. “My uncle finally agreed to tattoo you?”

He shifts against the wall. I risk a glance up to find his gaze fixed on the floor near my feet.

“Yes,” he says shortly. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing in my house?”

My smile dies, its echo reverberating in my chest. “I didn’t know it was your house.”

“Who invited you?”

“Michael Dresden.”

He stiffens even more. “Stay away from him.”

I suck in a breath, then release it slowly through my nose. There’s a pinch in my chest, its source the same old wound: my inability to reconcile who he used to be with who he’s become.

“Move. I’m leaving.”

His eyes finally lift to mine. In the soft glow of the vanity’s lights, their green is so dark I can’t see the brown flecks. I’m grateful for the anger in my blood diluting the effect of him actually focusingon me, but I also can’t stop my eyes from roaming, absorbing,seeinghim in a way I haven’t allowed myself to for so long.

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