“So this whole party is weirdly rock ’n’ roll,” Josie says, breaking the awkward silence Honor leaves in her wake. “And also gross. Really, really gross.”
“Can’t argue with that.” I chuckle. “If I had my way, we’d all be home right now in our finest flannel jammies, curled up with a book.”
“I bet your pj’s are tartan,” Josie says.
“Aye, of course. Finest sheep’s wool in the Highlands. But I won’t ask about your sleeping costume, mind you. Wouldn’t be proper.”
She gives me a look, half-amused, half-exasperated. As if she knows I don’t usually use the wordssleeping costume, and thatI’m laying the Scottish on a little thick for her benefit. She’s not wrong. I’ll use every tool in my arsenal to soften this one.
“Being proper has never stopped you before,” she says. Is she…flirting? Usually, Josie makes it clear she’d rather clean dog poo off her shoe than talk to me.
“You’ve got me there.” Josie looks like she’s trying not to smile, which only makes me grin bigger. “All right, then, what do you sleep in? A sparkly nightie to match your purse? I bet you dream in glitter.”
Josie laughs, a full, real laugh, and now I do want to know what she wears to bed—and what she looks like waking up. I bet her hair is a right mess, her face warm and sleepy and open.
“I think I should go,” Josie says, looking up at me through those impossibly long lashes. “I’ve had a rough day. And that was even before Freddy Krueger.”
“Let me call you a company car,” I say.
“Uber is just fine for me, Mr. Fancypants.”
“Mr. Fancypants? Ach, never mind. I’ve heard worse. Let me walk you out. It’s the least I can do after that gobshite attacked you at my ‘really, really gross’ party.”
We walk slowly around the place and toward the front gates, Ravenswood lit up behind us. The din of the party feels muffled, and it suddenly makes sense to me why this building has been used in so many films. The effect of the space transforms completely depending on your angle. A minute ago, we were trapped in horror Hell—now it feels all grand and majestic, and Josie looks like a heroine who should be properly kissed by a soldier returning from war.
Once we reach the end of the driveway, she turns to face me, and I can’t help it. I reach out to cradle her jaw. My touch is light, careful as I brush my thumb against her cheekbone.
“You sure you’re okay, lass?” Josie looks up at me with surprise, like she’s seeing me for the very first time. She’s so close I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin. She’s magnetic, and it’s taking every ounce of self-control I have in my body not to pull her against me.
“Honestly, I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”
“You would have been just fine. You’re strong and scrappy.”
“Right,” she says, her voice full of doubt. I don’t like this impulse I’ve noticed other folks have around Josie. They treat her like she’s a wee delicate thing, like she’s fragile when it’s clear she’s anything but.
“Honestly, that guy was lucky I intervened. Otherwise, I bet you’d be carrying his dick around in your handbag right now.”
She laughs, and then my eyes drop to her lips. I wonder if she’s feeling this undeniable pull. But I step back. I will not take advantage of this moment, no matter what my body is telling me. But then, to my shock, she’s the one who takes another step forward, and wraps her arms around my neck. And then, like magic, her lips are on mine. Her kiss is tentative at first, the slowest, barest of brushes, and I’m too stunned to move, my every nerve crackling with the realization of what’s happening. I feel the blood rush warm through my body, and I savor this whisper of a kiss—warm like honey and tasting of strawberries. She pulls away to look up at me with round eyes, as if she’s just as stunned as I am at what she’s done.
I assume she’s going to step away—she’s still the same Josie who has made it very clear she despises me—and I feel inexplicably bereft at the thought.
“One more kiss,” she says under her breath, as if she’snegotiating with herself. I don’t know if she even realizes she said the words out loud. “Just one.”
She leans in, and this time all her tentativeness is gone. Her teeth nip at my bottom lip, and I respond hungrily. I pull her against me and feel the wind knocked out of my lungs. I wonder if she can feel my heart knocking against hers. We taste each other eagerly, all tongues and hot mouths and that desperate chase for more, more, more.
And then Josie pulls away.
“Sorry,” she says, and I laugh, because I’m obviously not complaining. “I don’t know what happened just now.”
“I do,” I say, feeling the corners of my mouth tug up. I want to pull her back. I’m not done with that mouth.
“I plead temporary insanity,” Josie says, and though disappointment floods through me, I try to not let it show on my face.
“Well, we are at the Asylum. You were just going with the theme.” An Uber pulls up to the curb in front of us—an old Honda Civic driven by a pimply teenager—and I want to scream with frustration at the timing. I don’t want her to leave.
“Good night, Axe,” she says, hopping into the back seat. She looks a little smudged and confused, and is that regret I see on her beautiful face? Please, anything but regret.
“Good night, Josie,” I say, fists in my pockets. I stand on the curb, watching until the car’s taillights disappear into the night, wondering how soon I can see her again.
