Page 60 of Heart of Thorns

Honestly, I have no idea what the 9-1-1 from Rhys was about, and I don’t see him anywhere. Someone shoves a cup into my hand, and they yell something in my ear about my girlfriend.

Girlfriend?

Briar is here?

My head swings around, but there’s no sign of her in the front rooms. Or the kitchen. Finally, in the dining room, I spot her.

Black, long-sleeved shirt—typical. Black jeans. Chunky jewelry.

Her hair is in a high ponytail, and a few pieces around her face have escaped the tie. She seems to be sweating slightly, because strands stick to her forehead.

She’s at one end of a beer pong game, her tongue slightly poking out, an eye scrunched up. She tosses the ping-pong ball and howls when it goes into one of the cups.

Jealousy churns my stomach.

Why didn’t she tell me she was going out?

We had plans earlier that she blew off. Not a huge deal, I figured time just got away from her. If there’s one thing Ican’tbe, it’s clingy.

At this moment, though? I want to be. I want to be glued to her side.

I want to be her beer pong partner.

I want to kiss her again. Pick her up, have her wrap her legs around my hips. Press her against a wall and?—

“Thorne!”

I tune back in to the present just in time for Briar to pitch herself at me. I catch her—of course I fucking catch her—and let her momentum swing us around. Her arms wind around my neck, and she plasters her chest to mine. I barely manage to keep from spilling my cup, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve got her.

One hand across the small of her back, the arm with the cup against her side.

Her eyes are huge, glassy, her pupils huge.

“I’m so fucking happy to see you.” She grabs my cheeks and drags my face down, and she plants a sloppy kiss on my lips.

My brows furrow when she leans back. Her palms are hot on my face.

“You okay?” I ask.

“So much better now that you’re here.” She grins. “Can you help me win? I think I’m losing.”

She releases my face and latches on to my wrist instead. She tows me to her side of the table, where a guy across from her waits expectantly.

There’s only one cup left in front of us, and four on the other end. I grimace and wet a ball, tossing it fast.

It goes in.

The guy across from me drinks without complaint, then tosses the ball. It sails into the final cup without so much as a wobble, and Briar reaches for it.

“I’ve got it,” I say. I pluck out the ball and gulp down the beer. “What now?”

“Now…” She bites her lip.

I want to bite her lip.

“We should dance!”

I quirk my lips, but I follow her. Again. I’m captivated by her, but I don’t even care. We find the section of the house that’s been designated a dance floor, and she shoves her way through. She’s not limping—which probably means she’s going to feel it tomorrow—and she doesn’t seem to mind the crowd pressing in on her.

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