Page 54 of Fall From Grace
“If he’s that fucking cute, why didn’t you invite him here to sing with you?” Shit. I don’t think I’ve ever said something more pathetic than that. Talk about cringe.
Wren pouts a bit. “Are you upset that I called our professor cute?”
“I don’t fucking care if you think he’s a god. I shouldn’t be surprised—don’t all girls have a professor fetish? Something about an authority figure.” I hate how crazy I sound, and I hate how I sound this mad when she’s not even my girlfriend. Not even a girl I go out with. We fucked once, that’s it, and I’m acting like she’s mine.
She laughs. “Wow. I didn’t think someone like you would get jealous of anybody.”
Even though I am totally, one hundred percent, completely jealous, I still say, “I’m not jealous.” And I say it like a petulant child, so it’s more than obvious I’m a jealous little bitch.
Ugh. I hate myself right now. I really do.
“Mm-hmm.” She grabs a fry and chews, mulling something over in her head. “If you’re this jealous with me just mentioning him, I wonder how jealous you’d be if I would have invited him.” She grins. “I think I’d actually love to see that.”
“For a goody two-shoes, you like poking the bear,” I growl out.
Her comeback is instant: “And for someone who acts like he doesn’t care about anything, it seems like you actually care about an awful lot of things.”
Fuck. She has me there.
Still… the thought of Wren having a little crush on our professor makes me rage inside. It’s a damn good thing I’m hereand he’s not, otherwise we’d definitely have a problem on our hands.
Chapter Twenty-Two – Reese
When it comes to Logan Crew, I need to be careful. It’s not the first time I’ve followed him, and it’s not the first time he’s felt my presence. It’s more than I can say for most people; when I don my baseball cap and baggy hoodie, I tend to blend in around here. The campus and its surrounding areas, most guys dress like this.
It’s an art, blending in to your surroundings. It’s a skill most people will never have. I’ve always been particularly good at it; a predator melding with its prey while on the hunt, it lets you get closer to your prey, so that when you’re ready to take the final swipe, it’s a killing blow.
But something is different about Logan. There’s more to him than my research shows. For someone like him, he certainly doesn’t have much of an online presence, and it makes me wonder just why that is. He has to be hiding something.
And Wren—she’s too good for him. He doesn’t deserve her. She is unique in every way, and he’s your typical playboy douchebag. Nothing remarkable about him at all, save for the shadow in his past.
Tonight, I didn’t start out following Logan. I began the night watching Wren’s house, because I knew she was planning on asking Logan out to a karaoke bar. My expertly-placed mics and cameras inside her house told me everything: the time and the place. She discussed it quite a lot with her roommate, Sloane, who offered to come tonight, but Wren turned her down and said she needed to do this on her own.
So Wren walked, alone, to Logan’s house once it was time, and I trailed her from behind, across the street. She had no clue she was being followed; the girl was blissfully unaware the entiretime. It would have been all too easy for me to take her, but… even now, I don’t know that my maze would be perfect for her.
There’s a different sort of hunger inside of me when it comes to that one. My curiosity was piqued at her peculiarity, and the more I find out about her, the more curious I am.
If I told her to run for me, would she? Would she let me chase her… would she let me catch her? The obsession that runs through my blood is at a boil when I think about her—a ridiculous notion, since we’ve hardly spoken, but sometimes you just know. Humanity might like to think of themselves as the apex beings on the planet, but deep down, we’re all animals. If animals can know things intrinsically, why can’t we?
Wren is mine. I simply need to find the right time to go to her, to prove to her that this thing between her and Logan cannot happen. It can’t continue because she already belongs to me.
I slip inside the karaoke bar a few minutes after Logan and Wren enter. I stand in the back, near a jukebox that remains unused while people are performing on the stage. I know Wren can sing—it wasn’t hard to find the videos she and her ex share once I knew they were out there. The girl has an angelic voice, full and luscious, the kind of voice that could easily sing anything and sound great. I do wonder if Logan will be able to match her. I’ll find out tonight.
Logan goes to order something, and that’s when he senses me again. I turn and give him my back as I pretend to study the jukebox. I stand near a group of guys with their girlfriends, all drinking and having a good time; to the untrained eye, it might look as though I’m with their group.
Only when Logan returns to the table with two drinks do I meander my way to the karaoke sign-up sheet, and I spot Wren and Logan’s name near the bottom, one of the final spotstonight. Seems like I’ll need to make myself scarce for a while. Pity, but doable.
How I wish I could get closer to their table, to overhear what they’re talking about, but I don’t want to push my luck. Not here. There isn’t enough cover, and while the inside of the karaoke bar is pretty dim, there aren’t enough shadows to truly cover me.
Oh, to be a fly on that table, to eavesdrop on what must surely be a riveting conversation. And by riveting, I mean riveting on Wren’s part, but Logan? I somehow doubt he has anything interesting to say. If anyone’s going to run the gambit of my maze, it should be him. Wren is too good for my mazes.
Plus, I don’t want her to disappear afterward. The only thing I want is for her to be mine.
Being around so many people having fun, watching people go up on stage and sing to their heart’s content, hearing the laughter and joy in their voices as they mess up verses or sing the wrong words; all reminders that I am not like them. I’m not like any of them.
My desires are darker. What I think is a fun time would make most of these fools piss their pants. I’ve never been like my fellow mankind; it is the curse me and my brothers share, and it sounds like that curse has touched everyone who has a bit of Scott blood.
Yeah, let’s just say you can never trust a man whose last name is Scott. We’re all vile heathens with strange kinks and even stranger urges.
