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He held my gaze. “Me.”
Warmth swirled low in my belly. A feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time. Desire. “I would think someone that just offered to fuck me would at least talk a big game. I have options, you know.”
He pressed a hand to his thigh before it coiled into a fist. “I don’t doubt that. But if you wanted a revenge fuck with some high school dickhead, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
He had a point.
I continued our role-play; there was no way in hell I would sleep with this stranger, but I would happily entertain the thought. I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees, veering my gaze at him. “Ok Mr. Mysterious. What do I get out of this? Are we talking slow kisses under the moonlight or —”
“No kissing.” His words came too fast. Too sharp.
“None?”
“Hard no.”
The playfulness of the situation suddenly wilted like a flower starved of water. Okay. Some casual sex rule of his, no doubt.
He stared vacantly into the distance as if something held his composure in its tight grasp. Like he was clinging to it.
“What’s your name?” I asked, diverting the conversation elsewhere. Because there couldn’t possibly be any more red flags to add to the list that I’d collected in the space of five minutes.
The dark tunnel of his gaze ran so deep I swore I saw his soul. “Reid. Yours?”
As if he’d let me in too far, his focus returned to the field before us, where droplets of rain floated from invisible strings above. My cue to leave.
“Scarlet.” He didn’t look at me as I rose to my feet, pulling my coat tighter around my neck. “Well, Reid, as much as I love your company, I’m off to find somewhere undercover.”
“Suit yourself, Red.”
My eyes flew to him at the nickname he’d given me, presumedly because of my mahogany hair. “I said my name was Scarlet,” I bit back, annoyed he thought he knew me well enough to not only find me a nickname, let alone call me it.
This time, his fleeting glance quickly turned into something more. A slow drag of approval as his attention moved over the length of me.
I ignored the warmth flaring in the pit of my stomach and stomped down the bleachers like a sensitive child. I didn’t care what this stranger thought of me.
The low timbre of his voice made me slow my steps. “You forgot your drinks,” he said, and I turned to find him with the pack of colas in his outstretched hand.
“Keep them,” I retorted, forcing my eyes to remain as uninterested as my tone. “Consider it a parting gift.”
A low chuckle came from him, and he lifted his cola in a mock salute. “Happy birthday, Red. See you around.”
Scarlet
PRESENT
“I can’t stop staring at it,” I said in awe, motioning to Morgan’s piece of art on display. Against the plain wall, it spoke truths no one in the room would care to admit.
I never quite understood how people collected paintings as others did jewelry, studying the brush strokes as if they told some story that only they could see. That was, until now.
I tilted my head to the side, as if it would help piece my thoughts together, verbalize any more than that, but it was hopeless.
Like it didn’t need words at all.
Morgan stood beside me, one arm across her middle, the other skimming the delicate chain around her neck. “Thanks, you really like it?”
I took a step closer, captured in wonder of it. Like an invisible hand stretched between myself and the painting, holding me in its grasp. Marbled gray bled into midnight hues where a lone figure stood waist-deep in black water beneath a bright full moon.
It was striking. Mesmerizing, even.
