Page 47 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
Milo throws me a shit eating grin as she retreats. “She really doesn’t know how to take a hint, does she?” He flicks his lighter, drags deep, then tosses me the pack.
I catch it, spark one, and let smoke curl into the night before chasing it with a mouthful of beer.
Not my drink of choice, it tastes like piss, but between the punch and this, I’ll take the lesser evil.
The music pounds, the clearing sways with bodies, voices pitched high.
Isaak leans in, trading something low with Hunter at his side.
Time passes uncounted. Hunter disappears first, likely following Piper, though I couldn’t be less interested, and Milo slips off soon after, distracted by Octavia.
That leaves me with Isaak. I light another cigarette, halfway through the drag when I see her.
Ophelia.
She steps into the clearing, and the noise dulls in my head.
A red slip of a dress clings indecently to her body, far too short, paired with boots and a jacket far too light for the cold.
Her legs, long and taut, draw every eye, but it’s her hair that makes my chest seize. Pale silver blonde, falling in waves to her waist, a single braid at her temple fastened with that damned diamond clip.
The sight of it burns in me, a dull ache I crush by curling my hand so tight round the bottle it nearly shatters.
She sees me. And looks away.
Cool as anything, she heads for the drinks table, unscrews a bottle of water, and tips it back.
Her eyes skim the press of bodies as she swallows, taking it all in, and she spares me no second glance.
A ring of girls I don’t know closes around her, she smiles, and they draw her onto the makeshift dance floor.
She hesitates at first, then disappears into the music. The way she moves should be illegal, and I’m not the only one who notices. Nearly every man is watching her.
I pull out my phone and jot their names into Notes.
Every man who lays eyes on her goes on the list to be dealt with later, because who the fuck do they think they are, staring at what’s meant for me alone?
She catches my gaze and her lips part. For a second the world narrows to the glint of those green irises and the looseness of her smile, the wine has given her a brazen edge.
I imagine sliding myself between those plush, parted lips.
My mask conceals whatever flickers across my face, hiding the hunger I don’t care to share.
I draw another drag of my cigarette, let the smoke curl away slowly, ever so slowly.
Then I crush it beneath my boot and rise, never taking my eyes from her as I close the distance to my target.
Chapter 16
Arlo
I take a step, then another, until I’m standing in front of her.
She’s stopped moving, her eyes fixed solely on me.
The crowd parts instinctively, still swaying to the music but giving us space.
She turns her back to me, as if searching for the girls she was dancing with seconds ago.
