Page 4 of Painted Truths

A half-smile that makes me think she's privy to secrets I'd like nothing more than to uncover.

Her eyes slowly open, and as if she has a sixth sense that she is being watched so blatantly, our gazes clash. Her smirk turns into a full-blown smile showcasing perfectly straight white teeth and deep dimples that, on anyone else, would be overkill.

She glances down coyly before lifting her face to mine again, chin tilted almost in a defiant act before sending me a cheeky-as-fuck wink as she catches her bottom lip between her teeth.

She looks like the perfect mix of sass and, dare I say, innocence. Jesus Christ, the two combined are a potent mix, particularly when you consider the wrapping it comes in, and suddenly, the words of this high energy dance song are ringing so true. I want to know her name. I want to know her—more than I've wanted anything in my entire life.

I take my time making a leisurely perusal of her glorious body. Those pants make her legs look unbelievably long, and even though her torso is encased in a full sleeve, high-necked black crop top, her breasts are thrust forward and slightly more than a handful. I do not doubt that her tiny waist, flashing an inch of skin with each movement, is the breadth of one of my hands.

From this angle in the half-light of the club, her face seems to have petite features.

Except for those eyes. They are impossibly wide and fringed with lashes so dark and long I can clearly see them, even from this distance.

To say this woman is the thing of dreams, and in particular, my dreams, feels lacklustre. It falls short. She is perfection embodied.

And I want her.

My stomach clenches and sinks as the realisation hits.

Alex has moved around behind her now. He's placed his hands on either of her hips as they sway together in perfect synchronicity.

Of all people to see my dream girl with, I wasn't expecting it to be Alex, the half-brother I haven’t seen in person in ten long-ass years. And though he was only ten when I'd left home, our parting had not been on the best of terms, so there is no way I am making any approach, even if they are just friends.

I am not opening that can of worms. Not a goddamn chance.

As our eyes meet again, her brows pull together, making the most adorable frown as she tilts her head to one side questioningly. I'm guessing my horror is reflected on my face because all signs of flirtation have ceased.

At that precise moment, I feel a hand descend over my eyes.

Fucking North.

Grabbing the offending appendage, I throw it away as though it has burnt me and frantically look back to where the girl had been gyrating, only to find she has disappeared in the crowd.

An emotion somewhere between disappointment and loss ravages my body with anger hot on its heels as I pivot to face a laughing Caden, his blonde locks pushed back over his face.

Nate stands beside him, arms folded over his chest stoically, watching the gyrations beneath us, almost ignorant of my outrage.

Almost ignorant but not quite, as evidenced by the expression on his stupid face. His sneering face that’s almost wholly hidden by all that face fluff he calls a beard.

"What the fuck, man? Get off!"

"Jesus, DeMarco. What's with the eye-fucking? The night is young, the booze is plenty, and the pussy is endless, my friend. This is my big night, so you tossers have to do what I say, and I say, get fucked up now, get fucked later."

Ducking down, he plucks two shot glasses brimming with clear liquid off the table before straightening up and holding one out for me. I take the proffered olive branch as some of the contents splash out onto the back of my hand before I smirk, putting the glass to my lips.

"Bottoms up, wankers!"

CHAPTER TWO

Olivia

My first night out ever, and it’s looking like disobeying Mum and Dad is paying off.

And in spades.

I tried, and mostly failed, to ignore the guilt that churned in my gut. It had been swirling on and off all night. The joy of growing up in a devout Catholic household, I guess. Feeling guilty over simply living my life the way I had always wanted.

Freely and independently. As my own person, not just as an extension of them and their over-the-top beliefs.