Page 110 of Riot Act
This earns me atskfrom Wren, and a sly, teasing smile from Stillwater. She leans forward on the couch, resting her elbows on her knees. “When are you gonna start being nice to me?” she purrs.
“I’m not.”
“You’re my friend. Elodie’s my girlfriend. That makes you friends by default.” Jacobi cuts me a sharp-edged smile that harbors the suggestion of a threat. “Figure it out.”
I open my mouth, but the disgusting word I was about to spit out dissolves on the tip of my tongue; the bathroom door cracks open, and then slowly swings inward, revealing an expanse of pale leg, a flowy black dress with lacy sleeves, four-inch heels, and a wary-looking Chase amongst it all. Her hair is a shock of perfect auburn waves. Her dark eyes are rimmed with smoke—grey shadow and black liner that make her look older. Impossibly, painfully sexy. Her lips bear only clear gloss, but it makes them look plump and juicy, ready to be bitten. Sucked. Licked.
Urgh.
I rip my gaze away from her and stalk to the window, bracing myself against the frame with my hands high over my head. “I can’t get fucked up tonight,” I mutter. “I’ll eat and then I’m out. I have to be back at the studio by seven tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t worry, princess. You’ll get your beauty sleep,” Wren says. But I can hear it in his voice—the high jinx. He has nefarious plans for the night, and I know the fucker. He won’t let me get out of them that easily.
42
PRES
Strange how you can link a person with a setting so strongly. I’ve never seen Pax out of Mountain Lakes. Seeing him here, in New York, is very, very weird. He’s perfectly at home in this huge, sprawling city. His clothes, his attitude, his ink. All of it makes way more sense here than it ever has at the academy. Here, it also finally hits home that he’s kind of fucking famous. People recognize him in the street. They nudge each other with elbows and point at him non-too-subtly with their jaws on the floor. Someone asks him for a photograph, a guy with a beer-stained t-shirt and a bunch of professional camera gear hanging around his neck—'paparazzi,’ Elodie mouths, pretending to throw up—and Pax threatens to break his fucking jaw.
Elodie and Wren go ahead of us, jostling each other and laughing, stopping briefly to make out, then running off down the street, weaving around the other people heading north along the outskirts of Central Park. That leaves Pax and I walking kind of together, alone. He’s a half a step ahead of me, his hands buried deep in his pockets, the peak of his ball cap covering the back of his neck, covering up his tattoos. He doesn’t say a word. His lips are pressed together so tight that they’ve turned white, in fact.
For every step he takes, I take three, battling to retain my balance in the ridiculous heels Elodie loaned me. I duck around some scaffolding in front of a building that looks like it’s about to fall down any second and I nearly eat shit. One second, I think I’ve got it, I think I’m going to be able to save myself from toppling over. The next, my heel buckles, I go over on it, and I’m spilling sideways, off the edge of the curb.
“ShiITT!”
A vise-like grip closes around my upper arm, grabbing hold of me before I can hit the deck. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Pax mutters. “You done, Bambi?” He pulls me upright, not gently, but not particularly roughly, either. I look up at him, trying not to be startled by the heat of his hand burning through the sleeve of the leather jacket Elodie also loaned to me. His jaw is set, a muscle feathering in his cheek. His nostrils flare. He blows down his nose like a spooked wild horse, ready to bolt at any second. When our eyes meet, his steel silver irises flash mercurially.
I wait for him to let me go. Only he doesn’t. He casts a quick look up the road, searching out Wren and Elodie, then turns back to me, tugging me closer to him. “What is this, Chase? I don’t have the time or the energy for this shit.”
My chest pinches, lungs seizing, begging for air that won’t come. “What do you mean? I’m not—”
“You come all the way to the city? To check on me? Because you’reworriedabout me?”
“Yes!”
“But you didn’t give a flying fuck about me in your bedroom a couple of weeks ago,” he says, his voice all hard edges.
“What?”
“You made it pretty clear that I was just a fuck to you, and you didn’t need anything else from me. So why bother chasing me all the way to New York now, huh?”
“I didn’t—” I shake my head. “I never said that, Pax. I was just really confused. You were acting so differently. I couldn’t figure you out. And then you said you were tired, and I was the path of least resistance for you, and yeah! Okay!” I throw my hands up, exasperated. “That made me feel like shit. So, I was a little pissy—”
He huffs, cutting me off. “Why the fuck wouldthatmake you feel like shit?”
“Why do you think? Are you so completely clueless that you think telling a girl you’re nothing but the easiest option is going to make her feelgood?”
He narrows his eyes to slits. Even angry, he’s the most insanely attractive guy I’ve ever fucking seen.Foolish teenaged hormones. Foolish, romantic brain. Foolish fucking heart. What a mess you’ve gotten me into.I catch the flash of his teeth—a briefest suggestion of a snarl. “You aresofucking off base,” he grits out.
“Come on! Quit squabbling in the street, children. We’ll lose the table if we’re late. I will not be happy,” Wren hollers.
“You want me. You’re addicted to fucking me,” Pax states. When I don’t say anything in response, he lifts an eyebrow in challenge.
God. Is he really doing this now? “What? Am I supposed to curl up in my shame and deny it?” I hiss.
He wets his lips. “Well?”
“Yes.” I say it without emotion. Certainly without embarrassment. I don’t have the energy for either anymore.
