Page 74 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
MARGAUX
I see a few familiar faces. Big names in the community. I’m going to ask around.
You and Caldwell have my permission to snoop.
“How good is your permission here?” I look up from my phone.
That feels safe to say out loud.
“Not very,” she says. “Good luck.”
With that, Margaux is gone, leaving Caldwell and me with our drinks.
I turn to find him watching me, completely out of the loop, and flash my phone in his direction.
“Ah,” he says. “I see.”
“Let’s go.”
With our drinks in hand and my phone away, we navigate through the club. Like last time, Caldwell uses his body as a shield, keeping me safely pressed to his chest. He’s closer than before. His free hand is on my waist as we ascend the staircase.
The second floor is in the same state I remember. Couples embrace—and more. Blood drips down necks. Nails scratch at bare backs, and despite being in a somewhat public area, they’re in various stages of undress.
I’m flushed with warmth as Caldwell leads me down the hall.
I twist to look at him. My chest presses against his.
“How comfortable do you feel here?” I ask, peering up at him.
“Did you forget what I said I would do to you in front of all these people?” His voice is low and even. “I meant it.”
I’m warmer. It probably won’t help, butI lift the drink in my hand, a feeble attempt at cooling down. “Then, you really do frequent places like this…?”
“No. Never.” He mirrors me with a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. “But ever since our dance, I haven’t been able to get the thought out of my mind. You’re changing me.” There’s a teasing twinkle in his eye.
“I wouldn’t want to do that.” I press myself against the crimson wall, smoothly draining my glass. “I like you the way you are.”
In an instant, he’s near me again, quick to close the space I created.
“Promise?” His chest presses to mine, and his head bows low enough that I can taste the whiskey on his breath.
“I promise.” My fingers curl into his shirt, dragging him closer in a smooth motion.
There are eyes on us—likely several pairs—and I’ve never been one for the spotlight. That’s Margaux with her acting or Poppy with her art.
I’ve always been off to the side, behind the scenes, and I preferred it that way. I’m still there now, with Caldwell’s form protecting me from the onlookers.
I find I like the attention—and it may only be due to the safety he presents.
He doesn’t seem to mind, either. I don’t need to prompt or beg for his lips to find mine—clashing, our mouths meeting with need.
“This is the danger of wanting you,” I whisper breathlessly between kisses. “You’re so distracting. I already forgot why we’re here.”
“I didn’t,” he says, with his forehead pressed to mine. “Show me the room with the bird mask painting. I want to see it.”
“Let’s hope it’s unoccupied.” I take his hand to lead him away.
Like last time, the door is unlocked. I still wince, slowly opening the door rather than pushing it in as I had before.
