Page 150 of The Wicked
She sucked in a breath, looking away from me to stare ahead… it was faint, very faint, but I caught the slight flush in her cheeks before she turned.
“Jesus fucking Christ, why are you so blunt with your feelings,” she muttered.
“I’m too old to beat around the bush.”
She turned to me with a smug look that almost washed the flush from her cheeks, but I could still see the ghost of it.
“I thought you said thirty-three wasn’t old?”
“I meant that I’m not a sixteen-year-old boy who would deny his feelings because of his pride.”
“Well, I have learned that it’s better to keep your feelings to yourself, or they will be used against you.”
“That begs the question of why I saw you pacing outside my house like seeing me would break the barrier for whatever troubled you. Why did you come to me?”
Her lips thinned, pressed together like she was biting the inside of them.
I wanted to reach forward and use my thumb to stop her from worrying them… but that would make me want to kiss her—I wanted to kiss her—but unfortunately, that was never going to happen again, so I clasped my hands tighter, banishing the thoughts.
“You really want to know the reason I’m here?”
“You might as well state it now that you have my attention.”
Her gaze flickered between my eyes, so guarded, so cautious about letting slip what she had wanted to tell me. I wondered what made her this way, locked in herself, beyond reach of anyone who wanted to reach.
“Fine. You—maybe haven’t been the—the only one who’s been a mess these past weeks. I’ve been screwing shit up for Street, and Dog is ready to rip my head apart. A few hours ago, we were at a brunch, and I completely forgot the fake name I had told the guy who was supposed to have information about the next painting, and I had to fake a faint to avoid it. It was a disaster because I can’t fake a faint to save my life.” She breathed. “The silver lining is that you were right; I think we need to talk about the—the incident on the rooftop.”
“Incident?”
“I don’t know, okay? Occurrence, situation—”
“You don’t think it was a fucked-up night filled with raging hormones? Your words.”
“I—” She sighed. “I wasn’t in a good mood when I said all that. If we’re going to be mutual—or friends or whatever—you should know that I say things I don’t mean when I’m in a mood. And that day, I was in a mood.”
“In a mood,” I repeated.
“Yes, Elio, are you slow?”
I tilted my head, staring at her as I recalled when I’d asked her the same question in that car right before the chase.
I curled my lips into a smile that turned into a small half laugh as I looked away from her, shaking my head.
It was silent for three beats before she spoke up. “Did you just—did you just laugh?”
My smile died, and I turned to look at her again with a frown. “No.”
“But I just—” She looked unsure. “Stop fucking with me.”
“You are not making any sense,” I said with the same stern look.
“I just heard you laugh, and you literally smiled. It was charming and beautiful, do it again.”
“You are delusional.”
“I am not,” she said, uncertainty in her eyes. “God, you’re so good at this shit.”
“No, you’re probably going crazy with all the drugs you take with your friend.” I tilted my head slowly, watching her with a mock concerned frown. “Maybe you need help. You’re hallucinating; I don’t want a sick person looking for that painting. You’ll drag the others down.”
