Page 4 of Choke

“It’s Alicia,” the blonde corrects.

“Yeah, Aliciaaaaa,”

Oh boy.

“And this is Stephanie,” He says, motioning to the redhead on his right.

They both face me, and they’re all doe eyes and hungry smiles. Jesus. They’re young—really young. I try to hold back my comment, I do, but it slips out.

“Your parents know where you two are tonight?”

They dissolve into a fit of giggles, and the woman standing opposite Ronan slowly turns around. I’d forgotten she was even there, and asher eyes hit mine, sharp and unflinching, sizing me up, that sweet vanilla scent fills my nose again.

I take her in. The neon sign on the wall reflects in her stormy blue-gray eyes, looking like lightning. She’s not my type - tall, lean, full breasts, long legs, too many tattoos, and a scowl on her face that tells me she also thinks these two are too young for Ronan—and that he and I are creeps looking to victimize two teenagers. She’s closer to our age—mid to late twenties. I’m not into girls as young as the ones stuck to Ronan like a fungus, but I’m also not typically into women my age. They’re too… everything. Too serious, too ready to settle down, too ready for kids. Too everything.

She’s everything I avoid—there’s too much fire in her stare, but my body doesn’t seem to care. Heat creeps up the back of my neck. Ronan’s laughter breaks the spell between us, and I break the eye contact to turn toward him.

“You gonna introduce me to this friend, too?” I ask, a hint of sarcasm in my tone.

“I would, but she hasn’t given us her name. She came over to criticize Amanda,” Alicia chimes in, correcting him again. “Alicia and Stephanie’s choice of conversational partner. I was hoping you could distract her for us a little.”

With his words, I notice she—the one whose name has yet to be shared—breathes a little faster. She’s mad… interesting. I focus my eyes back on hers and extend my hand.

“Adrian; it’s nice to meet you—don’t judge me for my friend’s actions. I don’t share his taste in borderline underage girls.” Smiling slightly, a weak attempt to bring some levity to the situation.

I would have been disappointed if I had expected a positive response from her. She stares at my outstretched hand like it is the most revolting thing she has ever seen, like it’s a rabid animal that’ll no doubt bite if she takes it. Slowly, her eyes return to mine, and she folds her arms across her chest.

Oh. This is how it’s going to be.

I tuck my hand into my pocket, allowing my gaze to trace the ink that covers her skin; she’s adorned with tattoos—bold lines andvibrant colors blanket every inch of visible skin and extend beneath the sleeves of her fitted black shirt. A gold chain rests against the hollow of her throat, thick links accented with clusters of charms. I can make out a small shell, a lightning bolt, and a black heart. When she swallows, her throat bobs, and the gold necklace glimmers. I drag my gaze back to her eyes and hold her stare. We might turn to stone like this, both entirely unwilling to break first, but Amanda/Alicia raises a white flag by doubling over and vomiting all over the floor. The nameless woman’s expression shifts from disgust to wide-eyed shock. She spins to face Ronan and the girls while simultaneously jumping backward, nearly landing on top of me. She stumbles, and I wrap my hands around her slim arms, and that scent hits me again. I lean in slightly and breathe it in, my nose lightly brushing her nearly black hair. I should release her arms and move back, but I’m captivated by the warmth of her skin. She doesn’t pull away; it’s almost like she leans back into my touch. Ronan and I lock eyes; his expression is one of pure intrigue, and it sobers me enough to nudge her forward slightly and drop my hands to my sides.

What the fuck did I do that for?

Bouncers are on us in seconds, grabbing Amanda/Alicia and dragging her out the front door as she continues to retch, with Stephanie stumbling closely behind them. Ronan looks at me and throws his hands in the air.

“I should make sure they get home safe,” He says.

Another wink, and he follows them before I can challenge this idea. I remove my hat and run my hand over the day-old stubble on my scalp. I contemplate my next steps when I feel eyes on me. Shifting slightly, she remains there, gazing at me. Her expression is thoughtful, even curious. Her eyes move up and down my body, taking me in while her head tilts slightly. We’re once again caught in a staring contest, and I doubt either of us is willing to lose. Her eyes are the darkest blue-gray and resemble the ocean during a storm.

What is she thinking?

“What are you trying to figure out?” She asks, her tone flat and assessing.

What does she see when she looks at me?

I steady my face, fighting my shock at the question; only then do I realize this is my first time hearing her. Her voice is strong and sweet.

How the fuck do I answer that?

She’s all contradiction—sweet scent, unforgiving eyes. She’s too much of what I can’t stand, yet I’m trapped in her pull, and I’m also wholly unwilling to let her know that my heart rate kicked up a notch at the question, at the sound of her voice, at the way her lips twitched into a slight smirk when she asked the question.

“Trying to figure out if you always look this unimpressed or if it’s just me.”

She scoffs and laughs, but her face remains even. The smile never moves beyond a flat smirk.

“That depends,” she replies, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you always this cocky?”

“Only when justified,” I smirk, watching for her reaction.

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