I hit up three different bars before I find her.
The devil in the red dress. All legs and sex. She’s the most beautiful woman in the room, and she isn’t alone.
She’s trick rolling, again.
That’s my first conclusion.
My second is that I’m about to end it real quick.
But another glimpse at the guy, and something isn’t adding up.
He isn’t dressed like the rich pricks she usually goes after. And there are two empty glasses beside each of them on the bar. They’ve been here for a while, talking and… laughing.
She’s laughing with him.
His eyes flicker over to me, and he leans into her, whispering in her ear. Their body language is too familiar to be new. Something definitely isn’t right.
I stalk towards her. He’s watching, but her back is turned to me. And then she leans in and…
She kisses him.
Thirty-Two
Scarlett
Idon’t want justwords. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go- F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Booker’sreally going after it.
His hand is on the back of my head, his lips moving over mine, and he’s kissing me like a man who’s thirsted for it for years.
When I finally pull away, I’m breathless, and anxious, and I still can’t bear witness to the expression on Rory’s face.
I don’t even know if he’s still there.
I don’t know anything, except for this pain inside of me.
“Think he bought it?” I force out.
“Oh, he bought it,” Booker says. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. It’s been a while.”
“Someday you’ll have to tell me who you were really thinking about.”
I try to look happy, but it feels more like a grimace.
Booker rubs the scars on his hand, and it occurs to me exactly who he was thinking about.
Storm?
That’s why he wants to track her down.
I wonder if he knows her.
I cling to this thought because it’s the distraction I need right now. While I commit my final act as this cold-hearted bitch.
“Scarlett.”
Rory’s voice is deep and menacing behind me.
