Page 86 of Ominous: Part 1
“The whole team?” I don’t know why I ask it, but I see by the smile pulling at his mouth, it’s a good question.
“No.” He turns from me, then carefully places the yearbook he’s not in back on the shelf, where it belongs. He lets his finger linger against the spine, sliding down it almost sensually, and a shiver crawls down my own spine. I drink in his side profile, his parted lips, defined jawline, the way I can see his pulse jumping in his throat from bleacher runs, which sound like a very low circle of hell.
“Where were you last year?”
He shakes his head once, like he can’t listen to my question, like he’s trying to focus on something. His finger is still on the spine of the book, and he’s staring at it, like it’ll give him the answers to his own absence. Then he just says, “I missed picture day.”
I narrow my eyes, even though he doesn’t look at me. “Bullshit. You weren’t in wrestling pictures either.”
“Missed that, too.” A smirk accompanies his words, and I know he’s being a smart ass.
I try my first question again. “Okay, if you want to be an asshole… What happened this morning? Or are you going to tell me I’m delusional there, too?”
“Might be for the best.” His voice is low and even, and my temper rises because of it.
“What the hell, Eli? What if I got escorted by cops down the hallway and you didn’t hear from me all day and—”
“That’s the real problem, isn’t it?” He arches a brow, but he’s still not looking at me. “It’s not what happened. It’s not the cops, Eden. You don’t care about the fucking cops, do you?” His smile widens, gaze focused on the yearbook. “You don’t care what I did. Just like you don’t care I’m not in here.” He taps his finger once against the spine of the book. “You’re just upset because I didn’t inform you about my absence last year, and I didn’t answer your texts, or your call, which, by the way…” He finally turns to look at me, still smiling.
My heart flutters in my chest.
“I really like when you call me.”
I bet you do.
“I was a little busy getting out of a chokehold when you did, or I would have answered.”
The image of Eli getting choked is strangely appealing, and I press my thighs together, something he notices, because his eyes dart down before slowly dragging back up the length of my body. Still, I force myself tofocus.“And my texts? Why couldn’t you answer any of those?”
“Are you worried that sometimes, I’m not thinking of you?” He whispers those words.
My face flushes hot for the first time since his arrival here. I bite the inside of my cheek, but I don’t look away from him, even as he pulls apart my worst fear, like tearing stitches from a wound. It’s whatIdo. I forget about people when they no longer serve their purpose to me. Amanda, for example. A girl I should’ve been lifelong friends with, because I’ve known her since I was a kid, and we’ve had sleepovers, and I know her family, and she knows mine, and she stood up for me after Nic, but I move and I just… don’t care anymore. I rarely think of her.
I need Eli to keep thinking of me, until we graduate. Whatever this is can end then, but I need a person until it’s over. Someone to stick close to.
He drops his hand from the shelf, then slowly stalks toward me.
I back up, until I can’t anymore, the brick wall at my back, the grooves and mortar digging into my shoulder blades. My pulse is pounding in my ears, so loud I’m worried I won’t be able to hear him when he speaks.
He doesn’t touch me, his hands by his sides, but he leans in close, and I can feel his body heat, and this time, hedoesfeel hot, his icy coolness swallowed from his workout.
“I’m always thinking of you,” he says, his eyes darting to my mouth, then back up.
I lick my lips, and he tracks the movement, smiling as he does.
“Always,Eden. You’ve done something to me because you’re stuck in my fucking head.” He sounds suddenly irritated, but not angry. “Last night…”
My face is on fire, the flush spreading down my neck, across my chest, and I’m grateful I’m still in the dark blue polo I wore today, buttoned up to my throat. I have the urge to run, my palms finding the cold bricks at my back, pressing against them and enjoying the prick on my skin, grounding me.
“Yeah?” I manage to whisper, my voice cracking, wanting him to keep talking. Keep telling me these sickly sweet things.
“Yeah?” he mocks me, and there’s something sensual in the word, the way he smiles with it. His hands are still by his sides, and I want them all over me just as much as I don’t. “Did you mean it? Everything you said to me?”
I kind of want to die. The things we talked about last night, the words I gave him, the ones I think he needed in the moment like I did before, they’re so much easier to say in texts. Now, I don’t know where to look or how to talk or even really, when to breathe. He has the ability to crumble all of my sharpened defenses.
“It’s okay, you know.” His words skate over my mouth as he leans down closer, his nose level with mine. “I meant all of it, too.”
My entire body is tingling, an ache between my thighs, and I want him.I want you.But I’m not stupid. I haven’t forgotten. “What happened with the cops?” I ask. “Winslet, you said you fucked her. The vigil, the yearbook—”
