Page 30 of Prey Tell
I walk out of Saint Helena in a daze. I’d contemplated his invitation for next week, but now, I would be seeing him again tonight, and I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. I throw myself into work instead, and it’s only when I’m entering the large, ornate auditorium of Saint Helena Academy at four forty-five that my nerves get the best of me.
Breath, Juliet.
I look down at my seat number, walking past rows of chairs until I find my seat. Of course, the seat directly to my right is empty, and I can only guess who will be taking it. I fidget until the show starts, ignoring the way my body slackens with disappointment as the lights dim. It’s probably better that he doesn’t show up. Sitting next to him in the dark for an hour is asking for trouble, anyway. Plus, I’m sure the very last place he wants to be is here, watching a bunch of elementary-school-aged children butcher the classic Shakespearean play. Just as I lean back and get comfortable, a warm hand brushes my shoulder.
I jump at the contact, looking up to see Chase scowling down at me.
“I believe you’re in my seat, Parker.”
“Oh—sorry,” I tell him, but before I stand, he moves in front of me, placing a hand on my other shoulder as he scoots past my legs and sits down in the seat to my right. I slyly take in the dark gray suit, the gold-flecked tie, and the gold cufflinks as he props his left foot on his right knee, which turns his body toward mine slightly.
I say the first thing I think of as I face forward, skin heated. “You’re late.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I see him glance at his gold watch. “Am I? I thought it started at five.”
Swallowing, I scoot away from him slightly. Just as I open my mouth tell him that it is, in fact, two minutes past five, the music starts. I focus on not breathing too loud, grateful for the high-pitched voices on the stage to drown out the sound of my heart slamming against my chest. I couldsmellhim—the smoky scent he always wore, that wasn’t perfume but his natural musk. Like a smoker who didn’t smoke. Every minute or so, the hair at the back of my neck stands up. I’m grateful for how dark it is here, because my cheeks burn every single time.Is he looking over at me?
It doesn’t help that Chase’s arm is hogging the arm rest, and mine hangs limply at my side, my sweaty palms dampening my jeans. I have to wipe them a few times to dispel the moisture, and at the same time, I take a few calming breaths. When there’s a break in the music, I feel—and hear—Chase lean down close to my right ear.
“Nervous, Parker?”
I nearly gasp. “No. Why do you ask?”
My eyes are still on the stage, but I don’t hear or register a single thing happening. The only thing I can register is his breath on the side of my neck, and the way his shoulder is practically touching mine. My skin burns at the contact.
“You’re fidgeting.”
The deep timber of his voice sends an electric shock through me, straight from my right ear and down between my legs. I shift in my seat slightly, ignoring the pulsating sensation at the seam of my jeans.God, Juliet.
Get.
A.
Grip.
“Am I?” I ask innocently.
A few seconds pass where he doesn’t answer me, so I tear my eyes from the stage, only to find him watching me. His gaze wanders down my face to where my hands are resting in my lap before snapping his eyes back to mine.
“Maybe you should stop staring,” I tell him, emboldened.
Even in the dark, I see how his eyes narrow slightly at my words. “Am I? Turnabout’s fair play, Parker.”
Something white-hot zips through me at his words. I open my mouth to retort, but another swelling of music overpowers the theater.
I turn back to the stage, hoping beyond hope that he can’t see how flushed I am, or how much I’m trying not to pant at his words.
Halfway through a cringe-worthy monologue, one of the older kids says something that makes Chase chuckle.
“I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.”
“What’s so funny?” I whisper, looking over at him again.
“Am I not allowed to laugh?” he asks.
I open and close my mouth to tell him that I don’t understand why he’s laughing, but he beats me to it. Leaning close to my right ear again, his breath slides all the way down my body again. My eyes flutter closed briefly, my skin tingling.
“In Elizabethan slang, ‘to die’ was a euphemism for an orgasm,” Chase purrs. His hand comes to the side of his thigh. He’s an inch away from my thigh since our seats are so close, and I nearly gasp at the almost-contact because of the way the heat is radiating off him. He must sense my energy though, because the second I swallow, he moves his hand away. “Benedick just told his lover that he will ‘die’ in her lap.”
