Page 12 of Pushed to the Peak

The bar boss pulls back, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s that familiar scowl again, his thick eyebrows pinched together.

“S-sorry.” My limbs won’t work properly, suddenly all wooden with despair, but with Flint’s help I climb backwards out of his lap. He sets me on the floorboards, gripping my hips tight while I find my balance. “I need to… need to go.”

“What?” Flint shakes his head, like he didn’t hear me right. He’s still holding on to my hips, my dress bunching beneath his hands. The heat of his body sears me through the fabric, but it’s not enough to chase this sudden chill away. Not enough to make me stay.

Because I’ve misled this man. I lied right to his face, acted like I’d never drawn him before, then crawled into his lap and kissed him like it was no big deal.

I’m a bug. A lying, creepy bug. If Flint ever finds out what I’m really like… if he ever learns of my weird obsession…

Misery rocks me, and I sway on my feet. Without Flint holding me in place, I’d stagger to one side.

“Wait,” Flint says, but I step backward out of his hold. For a moment, his fingers tighten on my hips, like he might fight to keep me here—then the warmth of his touch drops away. It’s a relief, and it makes me ache. “Marigold—”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, boots scuffing over the floorboards as I back up. Need to get away. Need to hide from Flint’s baffled expression and his disappointment, thick in the air.

Should never have touched him like that. Not after telling him those lies. Darting forward, I snatch up my sketchbook and hug it to my chest.

“I need to…”

The room tilts as I turn and hurry away, the lights harsher and brighter than they seemed a moment ago. My dress swishes with every step, and I’m so slick and over-sensitive between my legs that my face scrunches up as I crash out of the bar door.

The night swirls around me, dark and windy and cold, scented with pine and wet rock. Clutching my sketchbook tighter, I hurry along the dirt path back down toward the sleeping town of Starlight Ridge and my cramped, lonely rental. My footsteps echo, but I’m all alone.

Need to get away from Flint’s bar. Get out of this town, this valley, this whole mountain range.

For a moment tonight, when Flint took me in his arms, I felt a wave of pure bliss—but nothing good was ever built on lies.

Six

Flint

It takes some asking around, some raised eyebrows and pointed questions from nosy shopkeepers, but I figure out where Marigold’s staying first thing in the morning. A headache squeezes my skull as I stomp down a Starlight Ridge’s side street to her hostel, every inch of me tired from a night with no sleep.

Well, how could I ever hope to sleep after Marigold left things the way she did? She fled from me in the night with no explanation, shock and misery etched on her beautiful face. Of course I’m fucking haunted.

“Ass,” I mutter, prowling down the sidewalk. If kicking myself were an Olympic sport, this morning I’d win gold.

But I was so sure she was into it. Hell, Marigold started it all, first by licking my thumb, then by throwing herself into my lap and shivering with pleasure under my touch.

That’s what I don’t get. She unbuttoned my shirt; she ground down on my cock like she owned it—believe me, I’ve replayed the night’s events over and over in my brain, examining it from all angles, staring at the imaginary tape. Trying to figure out where exactly I went wrong.

And I can’t pinpoint the crucial moment, but either way, the guilt’s choking me alive. Because why does it matter if she started it? Somehow, I must have pushed her too far. Must have spooked Marigold so badly that she ran away from me without explanation.

Maybe she sensed the bottomless hunger I have for her, or maybe I failed to hide how badly I’ve wanted this. Maybe I was rougher than I realized, too out of practice with touching another human to know my own strength.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

A flock of crows chatter on a nearby rooftop, the only souls half awake this morning, hopping over the slate tiles while a breeze ruffles their black feathers. The skies above are clear and empty, sunny but cold, while a lone truck rumbles down the street, the driver hunched sleepily over the wheel and yawning on his way to work.

This town always slows down as the nights draw in, its energy spent once the summer tourists leave. The painted buildings hunker in the valley, sheltering from the winter chill, while cozy fires melt the early snowfall off the rooftops.

How long is Marigold gonna stay in Starlight Ridge? What if I’ve scared her off even sooner? My boots thud against the stone steps as I hurry up to her door.

“God damn it.” The handle turns easily in my grip, unlocked and unguarded, and I curse under my breath as I let myself in. Has security been this lax all summer? Can Marigold even lock her own door? What if something happened to her?

Headache pounding worse than ever, I close the door behind me—and flip the lock with a huff. Jesus Christ.

It’s dim in this narrow corridor, with noticeboards on both walls covered in laminated instructions for fire drills and rules for using the shared bathrooms and kitchen. Even covered in protective plastic, the sheets are splotchy, their corners curling with age.

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