Page 20 of Overdose
I still haven’t said her name out loud. Don’t know what it’d do to me if I did. Like naming it would make this real. Make her mine.
She glances over her shoulder before I’ve even stepped close. Felt me coming—of course she fucking did.
“You stalking me now?” she calls, voice teasing but tinged with breathlessness. Like maybe part of her hoped I would.
I smirk, slow and dark. “You’re the one who wandered off again. High as hell. Thought you OD’d on your own curiosity.”
She turns to face me, the moon lighting her from behind like some hallucinogenic goddess.
“I was hot,” she shrugs, like that explains everything.
I arch a brow. “Could’ve told someone.”
“Why? You jealous you didn’t get to cool me down yourself?”
“No,” I mutter, darker now. “But I am pissed that after some fuck tried to drag you out like a toy, you’re still out here alone, high off your ass. You looking to see how far you can push it? Or do you just like playing bait?”
She smirks, that defiant little curl of her lip that does something violent to my chest. “It’s not your job—or anyone’s—to babysit me. I can handle myself.”
“I know you can handle yourself,” I say, voice low, steady. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like the idea of watching out for you. Just in case someone’s dumb enough to try you again.”
She’s flushed, pouty lips still a little swollen from earlier. My mark. Fuck.
I shouldn’t be looking at her like this.
Shouldn’t be thinking about pressing her into the sand and swallowing every fucking sound she makes.
But I am.
She smirks, head tilting just enough to be a dare.
“Oh yeah?” she says, voice thick with heat and defiance. “That just for safety or are you the jealous type?”
Like she doesn’t already know.
Of course I fucking am. Especially when it comes to her apparently.
Which is why I can’t fucking stand that Noir is watching her too. I fucking hate it. The way he looked at her when he interrupted our kiss. The way he pulled her up on his booth like she already fucking belonged to him.
He’s not careless, though. I’ll give him that. He’ll look out for her, to a point, sure but not for her sake. For his own twisted interest. His own fucking guilt.
And that’s the part that pisses me off the most.
The silence between us crackles like a fuse I don’t remember lighting, and for the first time all night, she doesn’t fill the silence with some smart-ass line.
She just stares at me. Like maybe she’s finally starting to believe I don’t say shit I don’t mean.
My eyes trail down her bare arms, and that’s when I see it.
Goosebumps. A tremble she probably hasn’t even registered yet. The ocean’s wind is colder out here, licking over her glittered skin, making her look more fragile than she’d ever fucking admit.
Without a word, I shrug out of my jacket and lean in closer. She tilts her head, watching me like she’s waiting for one of my usual cocky punchlines. I don’t give her one.
I drape the jacket over her shoulders myself, tugging it gently into place. She looks up at me, half suspicion, half curiosity sparkling in her deep brown eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you my jacket,” I murmur, one corner of my mouth twitching. “Isn’t that what they do in the movies when their trying to be all romantic and shit?”
