Page 21 of Finding Fate

Game?

"All of them. You know, a little here a little there."

When he turns, shadows from the blue glow of the black lightbulbs turn his smile vile. Even with the weird lighting, the various couches and oversized beanbags where couples make out are still clearly visible. The music grows louder, which is good for me—less talking.

Tucking my free hand in the sweatshirt’s front pouch, I stare at Jace’s back, nervous to look around in fear of making eye contact with any of the couples.

How awkward would that be.

Halfway to the back, I'm yanked right. My shoulder bounces off the wall just as the other presses back from the pressure of Jace’s palm against it. My earlier meal of Lucky Charms threatens to reappear as his body leans against mine, pinning me to the wall with his stocky frame.

"You've been watching me. I’ve seen you, watched you too." Beneath his weight, my muscles tense at what he’s implying. Fuck, does he know? "Your friend out there has a big mouth. A great mouth, actually," he says with a chuckle into my ear. "Let's see if yours is just as good, shall we? Are you competitive?"

Warm, moist lips slide against mine. I don’t move, too in shock and mentally contemplating how challenging it would be to snap his neck. In books they make it sound simple. Twist. Snap. Done.

But the murder plan I'd never actually execute flees from my thoughts at the cold, clammy hand brushing against the bare skin of my waist.

And slides north.

My heart hammers against my chest the closer his hand gets to my small breast. Fingers brush along the elastic band of my sports bra, triggering fight or flight to kick in. And if I didn't know it before, I now know for a fact. I'm a flighter.

"Stop.” Fear and frustration clog my throat, adding a tremble to my voice. "I don't want this." Matt’s earlier touch, Mac’s tight embrace, those were welcomed, comforting touches. Not this. This is vile, unwanted, and predatory.

"Sure you do, beautiful." Fingers intertwine in my dark wig with enough force to loosen the bobby pins holding it in place. One second I’m focused on the hand cupping my breast, the next on the slide of the wig against my scalp. With the black light, the pink of my real hair must shine like a beacon in the night.

Jace’s attention shifts from my lips to stare, grinning, at my head. "Now that's a better look for you, doll. You should—"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It’s too much. The feel of his skin against mine, his uncovering the damning evidence of my true identity spirals the disgust, with him and myself, straight to my gut.

"I'm going to puke," I blurt and shove against his shoulders. Eyes wide, Jace staggers back. Free from his grasp, I stumble in the direction of the door only to trip over something in my blind escape path.

Mumbling an apology in the split second my face is buried in some girl’s chest, I push off her shoulders and bolt for the nasty beaded curtain.

Embarrassment morphs to shame at what I allowed to happen. Tears stream down my warm cheeks as I shove my laptop into my backpack and turn toward the exit, all without looking up at Lauren.

The moment I’m out and the cold morning air hits my face, I suck in a deep breath and lean over the railing to vomit rainbow cereal into the empty street.

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