Page 21 of Reckless Hearts
“What the hell was that?” I ask.
“I think they call it the Sinful Siren,” she says.
“If I turn into a pumpkin at midnight, I’m blaming you,” I say.
She laughs. “I think you’re mixing your fairy tales there,” she says.
Ana’s tugging Saskia’s arm, pressing another shot into her hand, then offering one to me.
I grin, taking the shot from Ana.
“Well, if we’re going down, we might as well go down together.” I clink my glass against Saskia’s. “Bottoms up, beautiful.”
Saskia laughs, and we toss the shots back in unison.
She hooks one arm around me, pulling me close.
“Love you, Marcus,” she says, plastering a sloppy kiss on my cheek.
Love you, Marcus.
Suddenly, the faces and garish laughter around me swirl and the press of bodies on the dancefloor makes me claustrophobic. I blink, trying to focus, but everything blurs into a dizzying kaleidoscope.
My skin feels too tight, too hot, my chest constricting with panic.
I need air.
“Just going to the restroom,” I mutter to Saskia, who has luckily turned away from me to throw her arms around Taylor, pulling her into a hug that nearly sends them both tumbling to the floor, their balance precarious in their high heels.
I stumble through the crowd, heading for the door.
The cool night air hits me like a slap in the face as I stagger outside, gulping in deep breaths. The music is now a dull throbbing in the background, the chatter of the partygoers replaced by the stillness of the night.
I stagger onto the lawn, my feet unsteady on the damp grass, the blades tickling my ankles as I weave into the garden.
I slump against the stone wall in the garden, tilting my head back to stare at the star-strewn sky.
Memories swamp my mind.
A small hand in mine, the scent of sunscreen and lake water, the gritty texture of sand beneath my feet.
Love you, Marcus.
But I fight off the memories. I don’t want to remember.
The sound of the door opening makes me turn my head, my hair scraping against the stone.
It’s Seb.
Fuck.
He comes into the garden, doing a double-take when he sees me.
“Hey, Gandalf.” My voice comes out slightly raspy. I clear my throat and try again. “What brings you out here? Shouldn’t you be inside casting spells or something?”
He takes a step closer, his robes swishing around his ankles. He stops and looks down at me hesitantly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m absolutely fine. Well, besides the fact that I’m dressed for an Arabian night when I’m currently situated in the South Island of New Zealand.” My laugh sounds slightly brittle.
