Page 43 of Merry Me
Nothing came out.
The crowd was still cheering. Someone somewhere was yelling, “Kiss him!” and I was ninety-nine percent sure MeMaw had climbed onto a chair. But none of it mattered. All I could feel was him. All I couldseewas him.
And that was the problem.
I shoved the mic into Easton’s hands, ignoring the way his fingers curled around mine like he didn’t want to let go—andboltedoff the stage.
I needed air.
CHAPTER 9
NATALIE
Ipushed through the throng of bodies, ignoring the high fives and teasing comments like I hadn’t just fled a karaoke stage like it was on fire. My hand found the door to the alley, and I shoved it open, welcoming the slap of cold air like it was salvation. It stung. Good. Maybe it would freeze the chaos boiling beneath my skin.
The night bit at my exposed arms, but I didn’t care. I leaned against the cold, unforgiving brick wall, gulping air like it might smother the ache in my chest. Like it might cool the flush in my cheeks or the memory ofhisvoice crooning Christmas lyrics like he meant every word.
Would it always feel like this? Would there ever be a time when I could be near him without it cracking open every carefully sealed scar? When I could hear that voice…that name…without feeling like my heart was trying to claw its way out?
“You’re a badass bitch, Natalie,” I whispered to myself. “You don’t cry in alleys over boys. You cry in bathrooms like alady.”
And then, because fate was clearly a drama queen, the door behind me creaked open. A gust of humid bar air rushed out, carrying the scent of beer and sugar cookies and the sound of my impending emotional doom.
My stomach dropped.
It was him.
“Natalie.”
Just my name. Three syllables, soft and gravelly and rough like it had gotten caught on something on the way out of his throat. I didn’t have to turn around to feel the heat of him, standing just a few feet away.
I didn’t move. “What do you want, Easton?”
My voice came out sharper than I intended, but maybe that was good. Maybe sharp would keep him at a distance. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, focused on the twinkling Christmas lights reflecting off a puddle like they might hold the answers to this cosmic disaster of a reunion.
“Why did you follow me?”
“I’d follow you anywhere.”
His words were a sucker punch—gentle but powerful, soft but devastating. They hit like a snowball to the chest. The good kind. The worst kind.
His boots crunched softly on the gravel as he took a step closer.
I blinked hard, the world swaying slightly. “What did you just say?” I finally whispered hoarsely, more to the shadows than to him. My fingers pinched my forearm, hard enough to leave a mark, because thishadto be a dream. A glitch in the simulation. A Christmas movie hallucination brought on by too much rum punch and sexual frustration.
When he didn’t answer, I turned toward him, unable to stop myself.
Easton was leaning against the wall a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, his jaw tight, and those stupid, breathtaking green eyes fixed on me like I was something he was afraid to blink and miss.
I couldn’t help it, I traced the stubble on his face, a brief thought flickering through my head, wondering how the man in front of me would compare with the boy he’d been.
How much more experience he had…
Don’t think about that,Natalie!
Easton looked out of place in the cold, grungy alley, like now he could only belong under stage lights or on a movie screen. Except those eyes? Those were mine. They always had been.
And they were burning me alive.
