“I’m lying low for a while. I think we both should. That was far, far too fucking close.”
I’ll need to try and recover from this one.
I haven’t experienced fear like that in a very, very long time.
And the last time I was chased through the woods, I at least knew my predator well.
17
Indie
I Told You Things - Gracie Abrams
Age Twenty-One
“Oh,comeon,itwill be fun! Pleaseee,” Jenna pleads, and I wipe an exasperated hand down my face.
“I’m supposed to be meeting Saint; I only have a couple days before he goes back to London,” I whine back at her.
It’s been two whole weeks since I last saw him, my finals unfortunately taking precedence over being with each other.
Jenna gives me a look as if I’ve set feminism back a hundred years. “Indie, you’re about to have your entire life free to bounce on that man’s dick. Tell him to meet us later?”
She’s like a dog with a bone, except it’s an apple sour shot she’s waving in front of me.
I snatch it from her.
“Fine! I’ll call and tell him to meet us there in a couple hours,” I say, finally admitting defeat.
“That was the easiest rollover I ever witnessed. Can we go now?” Regina calls from the kitchen in our apartment. The clanking of Absconditus bottles alerts us of her present as she stumbles through, heel slipping on the vodka Jenna spilled during her desperate plea for me to join.
I head into my bedroom to give Saint a call, closing the door whilst Jenna holds her shot glass, cheering me before handing one to Regina.
“Indie, darling.”
Saint’s deep, rough voice already has me regretting my decision even more, wrapping around me like midnight.
“Sainty, how are you?
“I’ll finally be seeing you soon, so I’ve never been better.”
I close my eyes and let my breathing go shallow.
Anything that comes out his mouth is like utter seduction.
He could be reading me my last rites, and I bet I’d still be squeezing my thighs in the afterlife.
“So, uh. Do you want to head to a party for a couple hours? Jenna has literally been on my ass all day to go. I said I was meeting you, but…”
“Indie, stop word vomiting.” He laughs. “Go spend your last night with your friends. I’ll pick you up after and you can stay at mine?”
Then his laugh turns darker. “You can get your punishment then.”
Saint’s punishments are the best, and I earn them so easily, practically begging on my knees for them.
The aftermath of them is the real bliss.
He might be dark and broody on the outside, but in those small moments, when his gaze locks with mine and he asks if I’m okay, the armour melts away.
