Page 124 of Composed
Thank you, I mouth as she passes me.
She gives me a wink before pushing Axel back onto the couch, and tucking his phone into her bra. “You can get this back when you learn to behave like the thirty-three-year-old you are.”
He blobs his tongue out at her, folding his arms over his chest.
My grip tightens on the mug handle.
I peek at Cole from the corner of my eye. His body is angled toward mine, his hand splayed next to my thigh. If I pulled the thick black duvet covering our legs even an inch, his fingers would be on me.
His words from earlier float through my mind.
I want to believe what he said, but I can’t pretend the weight of our breakup doesn’t still hang over us like a black cloud. Not to mention the added weight of what happens tomorrow when we’re no longer playing hooky.
He presses into my shoulder, lips hovering near my ear. “You’re staring.”
My cheeks flush and I drop my voice to a whisper, “If you don’t mind, I’m very busy watching the movie.”
“I do mind. I quite like you staring at me, Rixie Moore.” Heat rolls off him and curls around me as he slides deeper into the leather.
His fingers dance across the duvet, inching closer to my thigh. “You said something to me the other night, can you remember?”
I drain the remnants of my tea, though it does nothing to help my dry throat.
“No?” The low rasp of his voice vibrates along my earlobe.
I shake my head.
His breath skates my ears and I shiver. “It wasenlightening.”
I rack my brain, scrambling for those missing pieces.
The club, the booth, the champagne, Saint—
I gulp. “You picked us up?”
“Hm.”
“And I…”Oh fuck. I clear my throat and turn back to the screen. “Don’t remember.”
“That’s a shame.” His tongue flicks my ear as he clicks it.
He settles back into his cushion, his arm still lazing along the couch back, fingertips dancing across my neck.
I try to focus on the screen but my brain refuses to process what I’m seeing because of the man at my side. A man who somehow brings every single wall I build down without me even realising he’s doing it.
“Is this really your favourite movie?” he asks, his voice low.
I hum, refusing to look at him. I know if I do, I’ll surrender. “This orMoulin Rouge.”
“Didn't that make you cry?”
I suck in my cheeks, stifling a chuckle. “Every. Single. Time.”
“Rixie, I didn’t know you were a closet masochist.”
The corner of my lips quirks, and I shift ever so slightly toward him. “Why else would I have all these tattoos and piercings, if I didn’t like just a little pain?”
“All, she says.” His pupils flare as I peek up at him. “Where does all entail, one might wonder.”
