Page 5 of Reckless Hearts
“I like your T-shirt,” I continue.
Seb glances down, blinking at his T-shirt in surprise, like he can’t quite work out how he came to be standing in his kitchen with a T-shirt that states:Think Like a Proton and Stay Positive.
“Ah…um…thanks,” he says. Then his blush deepens.
I’ll be honest. I don’t need my ego to be glistened that much, but if I ever did, Little Kleggs would be a good place to come.
But pumping up my ego is not my mission right now.
I move past him to rummage through the cabinets, collecting the necessary ingredients for tequila shots—salt, lime wedges, and a bottle of tequila. Saskia and I have a shared love of shots, cultivated on many nights out together, and I’m hoping this will work its magic as a peace offering.
“Have a good night,” I say to Little Kleggs, who gives some unintelligible reply in return.
Clutching the supplies, I navigate through the maze of inebriated partygoers.
As I turn a corner into the formal lounge, I spot Saskia, her golden hair catching the dim light as she gestures dramatically.
I sidle up to her, holding up the bag to show her my spoils. “Do you want to do tequila shots?”
She arches an eyebrow, and then a bitchy look comes over her face.
“I don’t know. Will you serving me enhance my spoiled nature? Because I wouldn’t want that.”
Fuck.
Saskia’s drunker than she was earlier, and judging by her glittering blue eyes, she’s slid into dangerous territory.
“I think you’ll probably manage to down some tequila shots without becoming more spoiled,” I say.
“I’m not sure I want to risk it.”
“Saskia…”
“What, Marcus? Do you have something you’d like to say to me?”
“You’re acting crazy,” I tell her.
“Well, you know all about that, right, Marcus? Doesn’t crazy run in your family?”
My breath slams out of me.
Saskia can get vicious when she wants to. I know that about her, know that her charm has this edge, but right now, it impales me. Leaving me mortally wounded.
I can’t believe she said that. Something I trusted her with. Only her.
Everyone around her stares at me curiously. I feel the weight of the gazes, the questions in their mind.
I stumble backward.
“Fuck, Marcus, I’m sorry…” There’s instant remorse on her face as she realizes what she’s done.
But I continue to back away, my head spinning.
The one person I trusted. The one person I’d remotely opened up to about my past. And she weaponized it against me.
I take the stairs two at a time, wanting to escape, wanting to get rid of this feeling inside me.
I shut myself in the upstairs bathroom and bend over the counter, gasping lungfuls of air. In. Out. In. Out.
