I like you smiling.Keep having fun, Lindy girl.I won’t interrupt.
The man next to me, unaware of the storm brewing within me, places his hand on my shoulder, attempting to draw me back into the conversation.His touch now is a boundary crossed.My heart races, not at the thought of Cassius watching, but at the realization that Iwanthim to.He’s being polite, nice even, but I want his possessiveness.I want his jealousy.I want him to claim me as his.It's overwhelming, intoxicating, and terrifying all at once.
“I need a minute,” I say to no one and everyone, and slip to the restroom.My pulse beats against porcelain as I grip the sink.I wash my hands twice, then a third time with just water because the first two felt wrong.I don’t look up.I don’t need the mirror to tell me I’m flushed.
I dry my hands until I have to stop myself from rubbing them raw.I open my bag and my fingers find the paperback, pulling it out.When my chest loosens enough that I think I may be able to leave the bathroom, I slide the book back into my bag in exchange for my phone.
His text burns in my palm.He’s terrifying.But, God help me, he’s also steadying.The lights flicker.Not the sick, queasy stutter they did around Wyatt, but quick, clean blinks that feel like a held breath released.The ghosts know he’s here.They come into focus at the edges of the room, closer than they’ve been all night, still not crowding me, but…bracketing me.The thought of them being protective makes my stomach dip.Why do Wyatt’s flickers make me want to peel off my skin, and Cassius’s same voltage makes me want to step closer?
Cassius:
I do prefer your space stay yours.
Thank you for excusing yourself, for telling him no.
I try to gather my thoughts, to understand the complexity of my feelings for Cassius.This is so confusing.
Are you here?
I type even though I know he is.
Cassius:
I’ll stay far enough away to be good.
My fingers hover, but before I can answer, he sends another text.
You look beautiful.Enjoy your night.Keep his hands off you.
Are you a bad man?
I repeat what I asked him on the phone.
Cassius:
Yes, and practicing restraint where you’re concerned is impossible.Help me please darling.
Behind me, a showgirl ghost fixes her lipsticked smile and winks like she knows the answers I’m not brave enough to ask for out loud yet.
I’ll keep his hands off me.
The three dots appear.Disappear.Reappear.
Cassius:
Good girl.
It doesn’t read like ownership so much as praise I didn’t know I wanted.It slides under my skin, heat pooling low.I shouldn’t like this so much, but my pulse disagrees.I read it again and it licks fire up my spine.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear twice.Pause.Tuck it a third time.Then I turn, open the door.He’s here, but won’t let me see him.The only man who looks straight at me, won’t be looked at.
I return to the table, a little steadier, a little braver.Somewhere in the dark, he keeps his promise to watch.
eight
I tellmyself I’m just running errands.But the truth is uglier than that.I look for his face everywhere.In the aisles at the store.In line at the pharmacy.In the windows of passing cars.On the back of every Harley I see.
I listen for his voice.That low, deliberate gravel of it.I’ve only heard it once in person and once on the phone, but it’s burrowed so deep into me that it echoes sometimes in the silence.
