Page 126 of Pucking Obsessed

“I’ll pretend that I understand what I’m certain is a horror movie reference.” D’Angelo grimaces. “Also, that the word I was searching for wascool.”

I nudge D’Angelo with my elbow. “Play nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

“Huh, you’re a much better liar than I am.”

He smirks.

D’Angelo is dressed in one of my favorite suits, which matches the piercing blue of his eyes. He looks as stunning as Shay does in his smoky eye makeup and leather jacket.

They look even more stunning stalking into this bar on either side of me like this.

My heart warms at the effort that they’ve gone to for my special evening, as well as my family and friends have.

I wish that Eden was here but I understand why he isn’t.

I ducked into his room, before I left.

Eden was lying on the top bunk bed, reading. Yet he looked like he wasn’t taking in a word of the book. His brow was furrowed, as if he was distracted.

I leaned up, resting my elbows on the side of the bunk bed.

When Eden turned his head toward me, I kissed him. Then I made sure that he understood I was fine with him staying home.

He look far more comfortable afterwards, curling around his book for the evening.

He’d havehatedthis noisy, packed Merchant’s Inn.

On the other hand, I love it.

Fall Out Boy’s “My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark (Light Em Up)”, is pulsing over the dance floor.

Dancers are leaping up and down to it like it’s a mosh pit.

Shay is thrumming with excitement desperate to join them. I can imagine him going to gigs every Friday like he did back in England.

He truly would have made an awesome rockstar. Well, if he learned more than air guitar.

“I hope that they don’t know the dirty things we do in the dark, love.” Shay curls his tongue, suggestively.

My cheeks flush, remembering the dirty but delicious thing that tongue was doing only an hour ago.

D’Angelo lightly swats Shay’s hip. “Secret, remember? We’re in public, but you’re eyefucking Robyn so hard that she should be coming.”

I laugh, glancing at the leather booth.

Neve sprawls on one side of the booth with her converse trainers resting on the table.

She’s my age with chestnut eyes and spiky midnight hair. She wears large, horn-rimmed glasses. Her rich brown skin glows bronze on her cheeks.

Neve is dressed in skinny jeans with a studded belt. Also, a black t-shirt with the wordsPATRON SAINT OF EMOSwritten across it in red like blood splatters.

She points her beer bottle at me. “You’re late, RH.”

RH is her nickname for me, Robyn Hood.

“Late to my own surprise party…?” I reply.

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