Page 3 of Things We Burn

I supposed I was one too.

She shook her head. “No, I just live in the real world,” she snapped, though not unkindly; it was just her brash way as a native New Yorker. “One where Kane Rhodes is currently king. And apparently, he just dumped his latest—oh, my fuck, he’s coming over here, he’s coming over here.” She readjusted her dress so her already well-exposed breasts spilled out further.

I didn’t do anything to alter my appearance. It was what it was these days. Though I did wish that I had washed my mousy-brown locks and done something other than take them out of a French braid and kind of spritz the curls a little. They were just touching my shoulders, the volume of the curls softening my face somewhat but also not looking anywhere near as polished and shiny as everyone else’s at the party. I’d tried products to tame the frizz, the fly-aways, spent money that made me wince. But my hair always ended up the same. Wild, unruly and easier to shove up into a bun. What I was used to since it needed to be tied up for work.

At least Kiera had done my makeup.

I’d initially thought she’d gone way overboard with the blush high on my already round cheekbones, and she’d made the liner on my eyes too dark, causing my shadowy-brown eyes to look almost black. Then she’d swiped red lipstick over my lips—my most hated feature, even though Kiera told me she paid a hefty amount to get fillers to look half as natural and full as mine.

The top I was wearing was Kiera’s. Though we had the same bust size, we did not have the same waist by any stretch of the imagination. The fabric was silky and had a lot of give, but it still clung to my torso in a way that made me slightly self-conscious. My stomach was not washboard flat, and my hips were wide. I had the traditional hourglass shape. I’d never really tried to lose the extra pounds I carried because it was my body’s natural shape, and eating was part of my job.

It wasn’t that I thought I was some wallflower; I understood I had all the features that made me conventionally attractive. I had curves that a certain kind of man enjoyed. But I never felt comfortable with them, never felt like they matched up with who I was. I was not the sex kitten type person that my full lips, hourglass figure and dark gaze communicated.

Maybe, deep down I wanted to be. I’d never felt comfortable with sexuality or femininity. I’d shoved it down whenever my mother tried to address it, further bolstering the distance between us.

Hence why I wasn’t used to wearing a whole lot of makeup, and I didn’t recognize myself when Kiera had finished with me.

I kind of looked … sultry, I guessed? Who could tell?

Kane ‘The Devil’ Rhodes did in fact seem to be making his way over to us, though. And it made sense that he was doing that because of my petite, curvy and knockout bestie with the greatest tits you could find in this room.

“He’s coming over here,” Kiera repeated. “Oh my god, I wish I was filming this.”

Of course, she did. Kiera had a social media presence that had taken off. She’d recently been able to quit her job in cosmetic sales to pursue it full time. That was where the tickets to this swanky party had come from. Perks of the job.

I watched the crowd part for this man, people staring as he walked by. Some were even gaping. A couple of people not so discreetly filmed him.

My attraction to the man waned some. Anyone who garnered attention like that would likely have an ego the size of Texas.

Though my attraction waned, it didn’t fizzle out completely. No, my heartbeat thundered by the time he stood in front of us.

“Hi.”

His voice was like honey. Or whisky. Something smooth and impossibly rich and manly at the same time. But with an edge. A rasp.

My skin prickled with the single syllable greeting.

That was not directed at my best friend.

But me.

Or maybe the person behind me.

There was no way for me to check without it being obvious.

I was pretty sure it was me, though, because he was standing close to me. Like really close. Much closer than was polite.

I could smell him.

He smelled of a woodsy aftershave and something else. Something that wasn’t manufactured and didn’t come out of a bottle. That was all him.

I could bathe in that smell.

Pheromones, I reminded myself. Pheromones. It was a natural phenomenon, designed by nature. On a cellular level, we must’ve been somewhat compatible. That was it. It didn’t mean anything profound. No fireworks nor love at first sight that Hollywood tried to peddle.

No, we were animals at our cores, a chemical reaction to satisfy an ancient urge to further the species.

“Hi,” I replied reflexively, trying to get my bearings.

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