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She smells so good, and I can’t help but lean forward and breathe her in, filling my lungs with flowers and honey and something purely Adalyn. My fingers tingle, begging for me to touch her, so I do.
It’s a cautious, nervous touch. Just a brush of my fingers to her waist. But then she shivers, and those glossy lips fall from that smile and part on an exhale. That brush turns into a steady hold before I realize it, my palm to the curve of her body, holding, waiting. Breathing is a task as the air thins, almost like it’s being sucked out through the vents.
“Do you like it?” she asks, the words breathy and low.
Like it?There has to be something wrong with me because I nearly blurt out just how much I do before I say, “Yes. You look stunning.”
For the very first time in my entire life, I watch her cheeks turn pink. It’s a soft pink, a gentle caress of warmth, but damn it all to hell, I never want to forget it.
“Thank you,” she says, blinking up at me with those wide doe eyes.
I nod as my fingers press deeper into the flesh of her hip, as if a soft touch isn’t enough. Tension creeps up my spine as I wait for her to tell me to back off, knowing damn well it would only take a single word for me to retract my grip, but she doesn’t. Instead, she curves slightly toward me, stare unflinching.
“We match.”
“What?”
Slim fingers with pale pink, manicured nails run down the front of my shirt, pinching the silk. “Our clothes. We match.”
I twirl my thumb over her hip bone. “Was that on purpose or a happy coincidence?” I ask, remembering how I found this shirt laid out on the bed for me earlier, just seconds before she disappeared into the bathroom.
“Take a guess.”
“I don’t think you believe in coincidences.”
She smooths her hand over my chest. “No? Why not?”
“You’re above coincidences. You make your own choices, forge your own path. Everything that happens, happens for a specific reason. Destiny be damned.”
Her breath catches, eyes widening slightly. “It sounds like you’ve done your research.”
“No.” I lean in, bringing our faces closer together.Too close. “You just make it hard not to pay attention.”
As she takes in my words, a terrifying look of determination flicking across her features, I drop my hand and take a step back.
I don’t know what is running through her head right now, but that look screams danger. And when a tiny voice in my head screams at me to reach out and touch that uncontrolled flame at the risk of getting burnt, I realize I was too close to crossing a line I could never come back from. One that I don’t think even a girl as fearless as Adalyn is ready to risk crossing.
* * *
The club isin the basement of a theatre. The ceiling is low, the air thick with cigarette smoke and sweat. Techno music shakes the ground beneath us, making my eardrums throb. A DJ controls the crowd like a conductor of an orchestra, moving them every which way with a sway of his hand.
Adalyn moves in front of me as we make our way inside. I lay my hand on her lower back, spotting the stamped pink star beneath my knuckles as I follow close behind. Bright lights twirl around the room, helping make out a route to the bar.
“This way!” she shouts at me.
The groups of people around the bar seem to part for her, and it nearly makes me laugh out of pure astonishment. I’ve started to notice how her presence affects people during our time together. Some might label it as ostentatious, but that would only prove how little they know her.
Adalyn doesn’t strive for attention; she beckons it naturally. We’re all simply moths to her beautiful flame.
And while I can sympathize with them for the way they watch her, it’s hard not to want to spin them all around and keep her for myself. It’s wrong—so damn wrong—but I can’t find it in me to care.
She orders herself a cocktail and water for me before beginning to inch closer as we wait. Each second that passes has me tensed tighter and tighter. By the time the bartender slides two cups toward us, her back is to my front, my arms on either side of her. I clasp sweaty palms around the glasses and pray I don’t drop them on the floor as we turn and head for an empty table near the front.
“It’s not as loud over here,” she says, forfeiting her side of the booth for the extra space on mine instead. I don’t say a word about it.
With a tiny black straw in her mouth, she sips on her drink, eyes darting enthusiastically around the club, head bobbing to the music. I rest my arm across the back of the booth behind her and gulp my water.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything a bit riskier than water to drink?” she asks after a beat.
