Page 4 of The Misfit

TWO

lee

I need… I don’t even know what I need. Someone to talk to. Someone to touch. Someone I can transfer this untenable … feeling … inside me to. It’s like this every time.

I take another swig of vodka and snake through the mass of bodies, letting the feel of them run past me and fade into the background. The need for an outlet, something, anything at all pumps through me … until it’s almost a fever pitch in my mind. The touch of other people, the smell of alcohol and sweat, the lights, and the music …

It overwhelms my senses.

Fuck, I need to get out of here.

I turn toward the stairs to make an early exit, but a huge knot of people clogs the passage, and there’s no way to get past them without making a scene.Fuck.I spin and try to find—an exit, a fucking hole to fall into—anything.

On the other side of the kitchen, hidden at the back of the room, is the pantry.

Yes. Like a crazed lunatic, I push across the mass of bodies filling the space toward the doors. Anyone who sees me coming scurries out of the way, everyone except the damn guy carrying the punch bowl. A growl of frustration rips from my throat. I barely stop in time, saving myself from a fruit punch bath, but I inadvertently dip a hand into the sticky substance as I try to help balance the bowl.

“What the fuck, dude?” the guy growls in irritation.

I tug my hands away, wanting to clock the idiot in the face. “Seriously? You ran into me, asshole.”

With the pantry so close, I restrain the whisper of violence in my blood and lunge for the door. Once open, I throw myself into the empty dark and pull it closed. The space is no bigger than a powder room, but with the door shut and darkness surrounding me, music threading the silence, it’s the most amazing place in the world.

A sigh escapes me as I press my forehead against the cool wood of the door, and the tightness in my muscles eases as the sensory overload slowly melts from my bones. Alone at last… until a tiny sound, like a mouse squeaking, reaches my ears.

What the hell?

Spinning around, I come face-to-face with a girl.Scratch that.Not a girl. A woman. I don’t understand what the fuck is happening right now—maybe the little bit of liquor I’ve drank has gone to my head.

What the hell is she doing in here?

I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but before I can stop myself, I reach for her. My fingers ghost over her cheek. She squeaksagain,and the blue nitrile gloves covering her hands swat me away.

“Why are your hands wet?” Her screech startles me.Shit.

In a panic, I clamp my non-wet hand over her mouth before I look back and check the door to ensure no one’s going to burst through it like the Kool-Aid man.

I’m aware I’m acting irrationally. It doesn’t take a degree to see that, but I have to find a way to calm down. My heart races, anxiety bubbling in my veins like a pot of boiling water. I wait for the inevitable to happen. For my secret to be exposed, for everyone to find out golden boy Lee Sterling is nothing more than an anxiety-filled prick. But the seconds tick by, and nothing happens. The door remains blissfully closed. I damn near sigh in relief before I turn my attention back to the tiny woman.

“Shhh … if someone hears you, they might come looking for me, and I really need a fucking minute or five here.”

Her forehead wrinkles with confusion, and I drag my gaze over her face, or at least the features I can make out in the dim light that filters in from under the door. There’s something wholesome and almost striking about her.

I can’t look away even though I should. I’m held in a trance, unable to do anything else but stare at her.

What is wrong with me?

I’ve seen plenty of beautiful women in my life, but something about this mysterious girl makes me pause, something deeper than beauty. I give in to temptation and let my gaze roam over her delicate features, analyzing each one. She has high, sharp cheekbones and large, bright eyes framed by perfectly shaped eyebrows. Her small nose is slightly turned up. She blinks up at me, a hint of annoyance mixed in the warmth of her gaze. I can’t tell if her hair is black or brown, but it’s beautiful and long around her shoulders.

The sweet scent of vanilla fills my nostrils. I almost lean in to get a better whiff but stop myself at the last second. She gulps, and I know this because I feel the movement under my hand.Shit.I still have my hand over her mouth.

Slowly, I pull my hand away.Do I apologize?It seems to be the obvious answer, but then again, I didn’t really do anything wrong. The girl takes a step back, pressing herself against the shelf of rice behind her. Not just a little bit of rice but a metric ton of it.

Why the fuck would anyone ever need that much rice?

“You can’t be here. This is my hiding spot.” Her voice bites against the darkness, diverting my attention away from the rice and back to her. “Also, why are your hands wet?” The last bit comes out in almost a whine.

“Unfortunately, sweetheart, none of this is yours. It’s owned by The Mill, which I’m a member of, so if anything,youcan’t be here.”

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