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“Embarrassed, princess?” I smirk.
Her eyes roll as she crosses her arms defensively across her chest. I hate myself for noticing how the movement squashes her tits together in a way that makes me want to lick the deep passage between them.
“Don't be an asshole, Cole. I came because your mama invited me.”
“Why the fuck would she do that?”
She glances momentarily at the onlooking crowd before roughly grabbing my elbow and leading me out of the barn. The contact, though only small, jolts like electricity in my veins. I try to ignore it, the way her hand burns my skin, and force my features into an expression of annoyance and frigidity.
The piercing night air hits me the moment I step outside, stabbing at me through all three layers of clothing I'm wearing. Thea's teeth immediately start chattering, her hand falling away from my arm, and she eyes up my jacket in a less-than-subtle plea. But it's her own damn fault for refusing to wear a coat during the motherfucking winter, so I turn a blind eye. Though, if I’m being truly honest, I like the way the cold makes her nipples cut like bullets through her dress.
“Didn't wanna be seen with me in public? Worried a small-town mechanic might dirty up your reputation?” I ask as I light up a cigarette, reveling in the look of disgust she gives me when I take my first drag.
Her teeth chatter, the movement drawing my eye to her lips that look so plump and ripe despite the cold.
“Don't be stupid, Cole,” she says. “I saw someone with their phone out and I don't know about you, but I'd rather not wake up to a video of us yelling at each other on Twitter tomorrow.”
“No one here is gonna sell you out, Thea. Unlike you, they're actually loyal to the people of this town.”
I expect her to yell at me some more, call me an asshole, curse at me, anything. What I'm not expecting is for her eyes to turn downward in a sad, regretful sort of way.
“No,” I snap, not believing the expression on her face for even a moment. The woman's an actress. She knows how to change the shape of her features on demand. She knows how to lie. She's built an entire career on it.
“What?” She blinks at me, any trace of the previous sadness I'd seen replaced by total vacancy.
Taking a step forward, I lean in toward her. “You don't get to do that. You don't get to pretend to be all sad and shit when I call you out for bailing on this town like it wasn't good enough for you.”
Like I wasn't good enough for you,I want to say. But I don’t.
“It wasn't like that.”
“Yeah?” Our breaths mingle in the air, little plumes of smoke joining into one. She’s so close, her lips only an inch from mine. “Then what was it like? 'Cause from where I was standing, you couldn't get away from here quick enough. You couldn't even fucking wait to say goodbye.”
She shudders—from the cold or the whisper of my voice on her lips, I don’t know. But I don’t have time to work it out because her finger shoots out to stab me painfully in the chest.
“Goddamnit, Cole,” she shouts, the grit in her voice surprising me. “You have no idea why I left.”
I reach out to wind a strand of red hair around my finger. “And whose fault is that, princess?”
An unforgiving January breeze whips around us, stinging my cheeks and freezing whatever thawed pieces of my heart I had left.
She bats my hand away, her forehead creased into a tight frown, her lips blue and trembling. “Just...leave me...alone...Cole.”
Her words are disconnected and barely audible as she fights to speak through her chattering teeth. I watch as her tiny, underfed body is overcome with shivers, her arms wrapping around herself once more but with little benefit.
Fuck this shit.
I take off my jacket and then my flannel, feeling the cold the very moment my arms are exposed to it and making a big enough show of it for Thea to understand how annoyed I am at the situation.
“Here.” I throw the black-and-white flannel in her direction, then speedily slip back into the jacket. “Put this on.”
Her eyes widen in surprise at the gesture, but she wastes no time pulling on the shirt and sighing in relief. “Thanks,” she says quietly, her cheeks pink from both the cold and something I can't quite put my finger on. Gratitude, perhaps? Or reminiscence, I don't know. Whatever it is, I don't fucking like it.
Even more so, I don't like the way my body responds to the sight of her wearing my shirt.
It fucks with my head, how damn right she looks in my clothes. It makes me think things I’m better off not thinking.
“Don't get confused, princess.” I laugh darkly. “It’s not to keep you warm, but to keep you covered. Who the fuck wears a dress like that to a barn party? It ain’t the goddamn Met Gala.”
