AllFreeNovel
Share Us
You shouldn’t have done that, idiot.
I’m falling.
Out of nowhere, sharp, desperate claws sink into my right arm. They rip at my suit, pulling me back into safety.
My body slams against a hard surface. The balcony’s floor. I’m a jumbled mess of limbs. Not all of them mine. Some of them small and lean and hot and all foreign flesh.
Count your blessings, asshole. You aren’t dead.
I open my eyes, rolling onto my back. I prop myself on my elbows, looking to see who my savior is.
A cherubic face shoves itself into my line of sight. Familiar and angelic and absolutely, beyond any doubt, pissed.
“Now you’ve really done it, you conceited fool!” Winnifred growls, balling my bow tie in her hand, shaking a fist to my face. “What the heck were you thinkin’? What’d have happened if I weren’t here? I’ve no words to describe you!”
She is standing above me, her face as red as a ripe tomato, her eyes so big I can see my reflection in them.
“You don’t?” I ask casually, lounging on the ground as if it’s the most comfortable spot in the building. “Well, here are some useful suggestions: idiot, moron, drunkard, imbecile, reckless asshole—technically, that’s two words, but—”
She tries to slap me. I catch her wrist effortlessly, stopping her from doing so. Drunk or not, my instincts rarely fail. I stand up, her delicate wrist still captured between my fingers. She stares at me with undiluted hatred. It shines from her sapphire eyes. I find it disturbing that I can’t hate her as properly and thoroughly as I should. She is a simpleton. An anecdote in my life. Nothing more.
“I’m sure you’ll find a good reason to slap me in due time, but that time hasn’t arrived just yet. You were saying?” I smile cordially when we are both standing in front of one another.
She shakes out of my touch, jerking her hand back.
“You’re a bastard!” she spits out in my face. “Tell me what you were thinking. Have you had these thoughts long? No one just gets up on a banister like that. In the dark too! When I saw you through the window, I thought ...”
She fires venom and wrath at me with her words, her voice drifting into one ear, exiting the other. I’m not suicidal. Tanked up? Sure, but nowhere near the realms of self-harm. Nonetheless, Winnifred succeeded in saving me, whereas I failed in saving Grace.Twice.
My eyes are still focused on her lips. Pink, narrow, and luscious. She is impossibly sweet. That combination between virtue and rage is downright sinful. They don’t make ’em like this anymore. Especially inManhattan. My mind may be slow, but my senses are sharp, and I know an opportunity when I see one.
My lips crash against hers clumsily. I cup the back of her head and draw her to myself. Arya’s warning is a distant memory. So is Calypso Hall, and the fact that we are both in love with other people, and that those people are dead. Reality ceases to exist, and the only thing I’m focused on is the person in front of me.
She is soft and sugary and different. So different I cannot close my eyes and imagine she is Grace, like I want to. There’s not a hint of alcohol on her breath. No bitter bite of an overpowering perfume. She is all toffee apples and lazy Tennessee summer nights. She is church bells and sweet tea and Moon Pies.
The very thing I frown upon.
Our tongues dance together. She fists the lapels of my tuxedo like I might run away. I’m not going anywhere. I want to pick her up and take her to my apartment and fuck her senseless. I want that girl who ate a peach like she was a forbidden Lolita under the Italian Riviera’s sun, oozing reckless sexuality.
Reckless sexuality.Jesus. Who am I? I need to screw this woman out of my system, ASAP.
My thumbs are on her cheeks, under her lashes, as I deepen the kiss, crowd her until her back is flat against the wall ...
Winnifred rips her mouth from mine the minute her exposed back touches the concrete. Breathless, she raises her hand and slaps me. This time, my right cheek flies sideways. It stings like a motherfucker. I rub my palm along my cheek, smiling.
“You darn well earned this one,” she hisses.
I bow my head. “When you’re right, you’re right, Bumpkin. Back to your words from a few minutes ago—I’m not suicidal. I am, however, shitfaced, which could explain why I overstepped the line.”
“Overstepped?” she chokes out in anger. “You pissed all over the thing!”
I laugh but take a step back regardless. Sexual predator is not a look I’d like to try. “You kissed me back.”
“I did no such thing!” She blushes guiltily.Oops.This is the second time I drag Winnifred out of her perfect Stepford Wife comfort zone.
“What annoyed you about my existence this time?” I inquire pleasantly. “And please spare me any claims you didn’t enjoy it. Your toes curled in your sandals, and I felt the goose bumps all over your skin.”
Her eyes narrow as she tries to figure out where and how to aim her next verbal blow. We’re playing a game here. But unlike my games with Grace, this one is competitive without being hostile. We both want to win, but no part of me is worried she is capable of poisoning or killing me in the process. Most important of all, we share the same endgame—we both want to know more about the lovers who left us behind.
