“They aren’t kids. They’re at least twenty.”
“Kids.”
I can feel her rolling her eyes without having to look at her. “They’re basically my age, Lynx.”
Fuck. I love when she says my name. Even if it’s with a moody tinge to it. My gaze lowers to her ass as she peers around the doorframe to see all the “kids” pouring drinks and arguing about who’ll be controlling the music.
“Hey, man. Why are you hiding here?”
I turn around to see one of the imbeciles holding a bottle of clear liquid. Vodka. I know the alcohol but not the brand—I don’t want to even try to pronounce it.
He hands me a glass and fills half of it with the spirit.
I don’t tell him to fuck off—Sable looks pissed off, likely because no one can see her. There’s a squeal, and a girl comesover to me, grabs the collar of my shirt, and pulls me into the room.
“I remember you,” she says. “You were kind of mean the last time we were here. Is this your house?” She doesn’t let me reply. Her finger presses to my lips, and I feel like snapping her in half. “Doesn’t matter. Come sit beside me.”
“Go on,” Sable says, crossing her arms. “I’m sure she’d love some mindless sex too.”
She’s jealous. Furious, even. I like it when she’s mad. Her brows knit together, and her eyes darken, and I imagine her on her knees for me.
“It was just sex, Sable. Don’t get clingy,” I goad.
“What?” the girl still holding my collar asks, confused.
I drag my eyes away from a pissed-off Sable and smile at the girl. “Nothing.” I free my shirt from her grip, uneasy over the betrayal in Sable’s eyes before I turned from her. “Lead the way.”
Mindless.
I need that word removed from the dictionary and from Sable’s damn mouth, and maybe this is the way to do it.
Eight letters and I already want to grab her, bend her over the closest table, and fuck her into oblivion.
Breathe, Lynx. She’s just going to keep burying deeper into our skin.
One last glance at the ghost and I let the girl lead me into the room, a few guys who remember me from last time cheering. They hand me another drink—what they call a shot of absinthe—and they all grimace at the taste of their own while I down the contents of the miniature glass and wonder what the issue is. It’s not strong, but then again, I’m a demon; I’m dead and the furthest possible thing from being a human like these assholes.
Sable walks in, her arms still crossed, and drops onto the couch opposite mine. Even though no one can see her, I still bristle at the guy she said she had a history with sitting downbeside her—just knowing they had something going on irks me to no fucking end.
My knuckles turn white when her hand slips onto his thigh.
She has five seconds to remove it before I crack his skull open.
Her leg flops over her knee, and she tilts her head. “I’ve realized something.”
I narrow my eyes in response, my hand tightening around the stupid red cup full of foul-smelling vodka.
Why do they drink this anyway? What is this damn music? Where are the poetic words rather than a man talking fast about fucking someone? Why is her hand still on his leg?
Sighing, I give Sable my full attention, trying not to look at the violation. “What did you realize?”
The girl beside me turns her head in my direction. “Huh?”
“You get jealous very easily,” Sable says, smiling at the relief evident in my body when she removes her hand.
My nostrils flare, and my blood fucking sings—now he needs to stand the fuck up and walk away.
I’m not jealous. I don’t get jealous. This feeling is just my annoyance with this entire situation andnothingto do with jealousy.
