Page 52 of Eternal
I let out a quiet, measured laugh. “At least the other one seems to like me.” I nudge toward the smaller dog at my feet, the one not currently eyeing me like I’m its next meal.
She shakes her head, turning back toward the horizon, but her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile.
The silence between us stretches, long enough for her to relax, though she won’t admit it.
“You know,” she says after a moment, “if you’re going to keep following me around, you might as well make yourself useful.”
“And how would you suggest I do that?”
“Start by answering some questions.”
The party rages inside, but out here in the courtyard, it’s only us. We sit together on the stone steps, shoulders brushing, closebut not quite touching, the dogs are sprawled at our feet, one’s sprawled out lazily, and the other’s still sniffing around, keeping an eye on us.
I light her cigarette, the flame dancing in her eyes. She takes it without a word, her fingers brushing mine. It’s the smallest touch, but the heat lingers, too damn intimate.
She takes a drag from the cigarette, watching me closely. I knew she was a smoker, I'd seen her do it every time as if to relieve tension. The way she held the cigarette, how the smoke trailed from her lips like she was trying to exhale the weight of the world.
But seeing it now, with the night air making her exhale smoke in little puffs, there’s something almost too perfect about it. She leans back against the stone, one leg crossed over the other.
“Never thought you were a smoker,” I lied.
She takes a long drag, her eyes on mine now, a faint smile curving her lips. “Better cigarettes than drugs, don’t you think?”
I raise an eyebrow at that, she’s got a melancholic edge in her tone now, like something darker hides behind the words, something I’d bet most people wouldn’t see if they didn’t know how to look.
She’s seen the shit I’ve seen, lived it, maybe.
Fascinating even more.
I watch as she exhales slowly, the smoke curling in the cool night air, like she’s making sure it’s all gone. Like she wants to breathe out whatever past she’s hiding. Her pouty lips curl as the smoke escapes, and I’m tempted to touch them, to see how soft and full they feel under my fingers.
She’s really stunning in person, up close, it’s even harder to look away. This time, her hair is straight, long strands cascading down her back like silk, her eyes are heavy with lashes.
Long, thick, dark.
I’m staring, I know I am, but I can’t help it.
I’ve been doing it all night long, from the moment she walked in with her friend Katarina, my eyes found her, locked onto her, and my soul followed.
“You’re right,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Still unhealthy for you.”
She smirks, the kind of smirk that tells me she knows exactly what I mean, even if I’m not saying it all. She slides her fingers over the filter and hands it to me without a word.
I take it from her, our fingers brushing for a second. I don’t break eye contact, taking a long drag. She’s still watching me, eyes sharp like knives, and for a moment, we barely breathe, our lungs full of smoke.
I hand the cigarette back to her, my fingers lingering for a moment too long on hers.
“How old are you, anyway?” she asks, not even looking up.
“Thirty-seven,” I reply.
She raises an eyebrow. “Old.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Is that what you’re going with?”
“Yes. Old,” she repeats with a smirk. “And you still think you can keep up with me?”
I step closer, our thighs brushing lightly. Her skin is warm. Her fingers are cold though. “You tell me. And you, how old are you, partner?”
