Page 79 of Meet Me In The Dark
On a park bench? At sunrise? Jesus. That’s a lot of ambition for a Tuesday.
I glance at him in disbelief, just in time to see his shock turn into barely contained laughter.
“Should we, I don’t know, call the police or something?”
His eyes light with mischief. “And say what exactly? ‘Hello officer, we’ve encountered some very enthusiastic public fornication. Please come quickly… before they do?’”
I choke on a laugh. “That’s disgusting.”
Still, my eyes betray me.
I can’t stop looking.
Why can’t I stop looking?
Yep, that’s definitely someone’s bare ass bouncingon a lap. And those sounds, dear God. That’s either an orgasm or a death rattle.
“Julian?” My voice edges toward a squeak. “Help me.”
“What?”
“I can’t stop looking.” I sob. “I’m traumatized. Help. Please, God, help me.”
Just as the man’s grunts reach an alarming crescendo, Julian loops an arm around my waist, claps his other hand firmly over my eyes, and keeps us running. My laugh is muffled against his palm, and I’m ninety percent sure he’s enjoying himself.
“Don’t look, Celeste,” he says. “It’ll all be over soon.”
We pass a woman doing sunrise yoga on the grass. She freezes mid-downward dog, eyes wide.
“Oh my God! Are you okay?” she calls out.
“Oh yeah!” I yell back, voice muffled against Julian’s hand. “This is just my friend being—”
“Efficient,” Julian cuts in without breaking stride.
“Kidnappy,” I finish.
The woman blinks and slowly lowers back into her pose.
We run like that, with him steering and me a flailing hostage, until the grunts fade into blessed silence.
When he finally lets go, we’re doubled over with my ribs aching from laughing so hard.
I look up at him, still panting. “Want to know something ironic?”
He sees it coming and shakes his head. “Don’t fucking say it, Celeste. Don’t you dare.”
“A blindfold would’ve come in handy right about now,” I say anyway.
Julian just blinks. One beat. Then we both lose it allover again.
∞∞∞
I should have known our brief truce wouldn’t last.
We’re downtown, turning a corner, and the easy rhythm we’d built over the past hour vanishes in an instant. My gaze catches on a black town car pulling to the curb. The passenger door opens, and Tom Kingsley steps out, buttoning his coat with that effortless arrogance that makes my skin crawl.
Shit. He’s early this morning.
