Page 37 of Creeping Lily
When he meets my eyes again, there’s something in his expression that steals my breath. He doesn’t say a word, but the message is there—possibilities, what-ifs, and maybes hanging between us like low-hanging fruit neither of us dares to reach for.
“Why won’t you give him a chance?” he asks finally. But his tone makes me think he already knows the answer.
“I’m not interested in him that way.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“I know. But I’m not going to start something I can’t finish. Trick is just a friend. That’s all.”
“Bethany says you’re not open to dating.”
“I’m not here to date, Justin.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple shifting, and looks away toward the dance floor. I let myself watch him in return—the clean line of his cheekbones, the way the light catches in his hair. He’s… dangerous. Not in the way Trick is, but in a way that makes my pulse trip over itself.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I say, sliding out of the booth. I haven’t had a drop to drink, but my head feels light, dizzy. Maybe I’m drunk on proximity—breathing the same air Justin Collins exhales.
In the mirror, my makeup is still perfect. I take a damp paper towel and dab at the light sheen along my hairline, careful not to smudge Bethany’s handiwork. She’d murder me if I walked out of here looking like a raccoon.
Still, my chest feels tight. Being near Justin is… exhausting in the most magnetic way. I’ve promised myself to stay focused on my studies, my future—one free of men and the mess they bring. But every time he’s around, that promise wavers.
When I leave the restroom, the bass thumps against my ribcage like a second heartbeat. Instead of heading back to the table, I veer left toward the fire exit. The heavy door groans as I shove it open, and cool night air rushes in to greet me. I step into the alley, breathing deep, letting the thundering music fade into a muffled hum behind me.
Out here, there’s no crowd, no flashing lights—just darkness and space to think.
The air is sharp in my lungs, but it’s not enough to steady me. My pulse is still racing, and I can’t tell if it’s from the heat ofthe club or from the way Justin’s eyes lingered on me like he was trying to memorize something he had no right to.
In the club, I was the polished version Bethany built—painted lips, borrowed confidence, a smile that fit like a mask.
Out here, I’m just me—the girl who never slots neatly into place, who walks through life braced for impact, always holding her breath and waiting for the next crack in the floor to give way.
The truth settles like cold fog in my chest: I’m not running from the noise inside. I’m running from the noise in my own head.
19
LILY
The alley yawns before me—long, narrow, and swallowing light whole. A cold wind snakes through, dragging with it the stink of rotting garbage and old rain. It’s the kind of place where bad things happen quietly, where shadows have teeth.
It’s empty. Or at least, it looks empty.
I stand still, letting the night air scrape against my lungs, willing my pulse to slow. The breeze cuts across my skin, cool and almost tender—like a lie meant to keep me from noticing the danger. But I can’t stay here forever. If I’m gone too long, people will notice. And I don’t want anyone coming out here looking for me.
With a reluctant sigh, I turn back toward the heavy door, my hand lifting to the handle.
That’s when it hits me.
A weight slams into my back, crushing me into the brick wall so hard my breath rips out of me in a single, helpless gasp. The world narrows to the sound of my heartbeat—wild, frantic, animal fast. My cheek grinds against the cold brick as I twist, desperate to see who’s there.
A shadow towers over me. Tall. Broad. A hood pulled low hides his face in darkness.
Then he presses closer, his body blanketing mine, blocking every exit. His size alone makes escape impossible. And deep down, I already know the truth: men don’t pin women to walls for innocent reasons.
Ask me how I know.
“What—”
“Shhh… Lily.”
