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Staying in my room and finishing what I started in the kitchen seemed like the best idea, but I wouldn’t cave, not even in the privacy of my own suite. The pool, I imagined, was a better idea, but even though I spend most of my time out here, I forgot that the water is heated, and rather than cooling me off like a cold shower would, each ripple against my skin feels like a fingertip tracing the curves of my body. The laps of water against the edges sounds like wet-mouth-on-skin kisses. It’s making things worse, making my body get warmer and warmer, making my thoughts race.
With a huff, I spin around, unintentionally taking in a mouthful of water that makes me sputter. It angers me further as I climb out of the pool and wrap an oversized towel around my shoulders.
The silence of the house is normally a comfort for me but the echo of my wet feet on the marble stairs drives me to a breaking point. I don’t bother to fix my hair more than struggling to put the damp tresses into a messy bun. My clothes consist of jeans, sneakers, and a long-sleeved shirt.
Before I can analyze what my plans are, I’m swinging my bedroom window open, pushing the screen to the ground below and climbing out on the roof.
A cool breeze skates over my face, but I ignore the chill. I haven’t snuck out of my room like this since I was a teenager, and it breathes a little bit more life into my lungs, the suffocating pressure from being in the same house with him drifting away on the breeze. The freedom of standing so far above the ground is exhilarating, the danger of falling a thrill I used to live for.
Climbing down is a little more tedious than I remember, and as I descend, I make a mental note to do more agility exercises. Once my feet are firmly on the ground, I bend at the waist and take a moment to get my breaths under control. What used to electrify me with adrenaline turns into real fear that I could’ve fallen and seriously hurt myself. If I dropped from the roof, I probably wouldn’t die, but I’d lie in pain on the damp grass with no one knowing I was there until Charles checked the yard via the camera system in the morning. Then I realize I’ve moved most of the cameras so I can sneak around outside without being seen. My bedroom window and below isn’t caught on a single camera angle, and that’s purposeful.
“It’s dangerous.” Flynn’s words hit me in the chest, making breathing even more difficult.
Is sneaking around at twenty even worth the trouble? Is the danger I put myself in worth the thrills it gives me? Or should I say gave me because now that I’m outside of the house, I begin to wish I was snuggled in my bed. Unable to get back the way I came, I walk the perimeter of the house toward the front door. Ringing the doorbell to get back inside since I didn’t have enough sense to grab my keys will be embarrassing, but I don’t see any other way. I don’t have friends that are considerate enough to come pick me up, so that’s not an option.
I squeal when my sneaker slips on the damp ground, nearly falling to my ass, but then my ears perk up at a noise.
A rustling sound makes all of my senses go on high alert, and I immediately regret complaining about light shining into my bedroom window in an effort to darken this side of the house.
Adrenaline fills my blood, ordering me to run, and I obey, my feet threatening to slip out from under me with every step.
A sinister laughter fills my ears, and even though I’ve never heard it before, I recognize it immediately.
He has an amazing laugh, and the sound brings a smile to my lips as my feet carry me further around the house. I wasn’t lying when I told him being chased was the best part of running, but I don’t manage to get far, squealing half in delight, half in terror of what happens next when strong arms encircle my waist and pick me up off the ground.
Now in the light of the front of the house, our shadows combine into one, and as much as I want to settle and lean my head back onto his strong shoulder, that doesn’t really fit the character I started playing years ago. I’m petulant, aggravating, and unruly. That’s how I’ve portrayed myself.
“Remington,” he coos in my ear, the tone calmer and more joyful than the grip he has on my body. God, if only I were still wearing the tank and shorts from earlier, I could feel more of the heat from his body.
