Page 46 of Alive At Night

“Then what happened?” My curiosity rose. It thrummed in my veins, powered by alcohol. “He told me he would be back.”

His brows shot up. “Did you want him to come back?”

“Of course not.” The attack in his tone brought out my defensive side.

“Good,” he mumbled before staring back at the street with a stormy expression fitting for Halloween.

“So, what happened?” I pressed.

“He kicked that chair.” Julian pointed at a folding chair, his lips twitching with amusement. “Then he took off to buy more cigarettes or something.”

“He kicked the chair? Why?”

Julian winced. How odd.

“I might have said something,” he admitted. He took his hands out of his jeans pockets before crossing bulging arms over his jean shirt. It made his red puffer vest puff up even more, momentarily derailing my curiosity.

“What’s happening with your outfit?” I wagged a finger up and down. “That is far too much denim to wear at once.”

“I’m obviously Marty McFly.” His look was accusatory when he trailed his eyes over me. “But you can’t really judge, Ms. Same-Costume-Every-Year.”

I wrinkled my nose at him, adjusting my beret, even though I had perfectly placed and pinned it earlier.

“What did you say to Greg?” I asked, reverting the conversation again.

Julian released a stream of air between his teeth. A near whistle. “It was about us.”

“Us?”

“You and me.”

“You and me?”

“Yeah.” Julian met my gaze before calmly answering. “I told him we were fucking.”

He said it so naturally that it took a few seconds to register, maybe even more. The words swam in my head, bouncing off the walls of my brain. That we werewhat?

I stared at him, unblinking. Julian ran a hand nonchalantly through his hair, clearly not caring about my internal meltdown as I processed what he admitted. He waved a hand in front of my face, looking for a reaction I didn’t have.

“Daisy?”

My mouth tried to make words, sounds, anything, but the apple pie had caught my tongue, that god-awful sneaky drink.

Julian took a step toward me, brows furrowing. “At least give me a sign that you’re breathing, ’kay?”

Nope, couldn’t do that. This was an impossible-to-breathe moment.

Julian lifted a hand when I didn’t reply, pressing his fingers along my neck. His touch, gentle but firm, jolted me into awareness.

“Strong pulse, at least,” he murmured. Did his eyes get bluer somehow? Bigger? Why was he looking at me like that? “Kinda quick, actually.”

Finally, my words sputtered out. “You told Greg Kennedy that we weresleeping together?”

Julian dropped his hand, but his fingers slid the length of my throat before disappearing from my skin. Yeah, my pulse was definitely quick. More than quick. Racing.

“No.”

Oh, thank God.

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