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"Nice to meet you,Madi, my name's O'Grady." I grinned down at her, waiting to see what The Society bitch would do.
She wrinkled her nose up at me, staring back in that perplexed way of hers.
"What?" I goaded, "You don't like being calledMadi?"
I was being overly familiar just to get a rise out of this girl. I wanted her to go back and tattle to her boyfriend about what a jackass I was - that way, when he came for me, I wouldn't have to hold back.
She shook her head, her locks swinging with the movement. "I've never been given a nickname before."
CHAPTER TEN: JUST A FLUTTER
MADILYN
My heart gave a traitorousthump. My stomach dipped and fluttered, and when he turned to gaze at me, a cigarette hanging through those luscious lips of his, he somehowsmirkeddown at me.
I wanted tosaymore -domore -talkmore. But I wasn’tgoodat this - I wasn’t a social person. I liked the sound of my own solitude - what seemed tortuous to others was liberating to me. And then he spoke. He wasn’tpoliteornicein his demeanor, and, somehow, I appreciated it more because it wasreal. His anger - his disdain - his dislike - all of it wasreal.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My heart beat a little faster at his proximity. Later, I would marvel at the fact that my stomachdidn’tdip and sweep in Paul’s presence, but, for now, I was content to simply bask in this feeling. The effect he had on me made me want tostudy him- made me want to understandwhymy chest fluttered at his meanness.
He stared down at me as if he couldn’t quite figure me out, either - as ifIwere the anomaly.
Perhaps I was - perhaps I had always been. Wasn’t that the very reason my parents didn’t expect anything more from me than to simply be Paul’s wife and produce heirs?
And there I went again with those traitorous thoughts. They had been surfacing far more frequently now that I was here - in Paul’s very vicinity.
“You always read psych textbooks on a rooftop at night?”
He guided the conversation back to safer topics, ignoring the fact that I had just told him I had never had a nickname before. Social pariah much? He stretched his fingers across my body, rapping lightly on the book in question, and that one movement brought the scent of his aftershave with him, and I found myself following it like an addict. His hand pulled back into his own space, and there was nothing but hollow disappointment at his forced proximity without actuallytouchingme.
Wait. Did Iwanthim to touch me?
I wasn’t sure, all I knew was that I wasconfused.
"Only on Fridays." I answered honestly, although, in hindsight, it probably sounded like I was trying to be flippant - trying to becute. I really was no good at this. No wonder Paul had been scarce.
"Only on Fridays, huh?" His lips quirked to the side as if he found my statement somewhat amusing.
I shouldn't be looking at his lips, but they werefascinating.They were plump, and full, and inviting.
I averted my gaze, staring down at the text in my lap as a blush crept up on my cheeks. Hopefully, the man - O'Grady - couldn't see how flushed I truly was. I didn’t know what to do, so I sat there in silence, staring down at the book in my lap. I should have been reading, but it was difficult to do anything else other thanbreathewith O’Grady’s close proximity to me. Inhale. Exhale. It wasn’t supposed to be difficult, untilit was- until emotion or hormones got in the way.
I shrugged by way of response, allowing the silence to settle awkwardly between us. But O’ Grady didn’t try and fill the silence, he simply sat there with me, beneath the darkness of the sky.
I wasn’t certain how much time had passed, but, eventually, he pulled a hip flask from his pocket, offering me the first sip simply by tipping the silver container in my direction.
The strangest thing happened. Without giving it much thought, I stretched my arm out, my fingers wrapping around the cold steel flask as I agreed through action alone. The movement caused his finger to brush against mine, which in turn had a domino effect, causing me to sharply inhale, breathing O’Grady in.
I brought the liquor to my lips, tipping the flask back as I sought his approval.
The cold burning liquor singed my throat, causing me to cough and splutter in a manner that was anythingbutladylike.
I waited for thelaughter- theridicule- theshame- as I gasped, my cheeks red, my eyes watering as I finally managed tobreathe. But O’Grady didn’t laugh - he didn’t criticize, instead, I found the weight of his gray eyes boring into me, weighing me - expecting me - examining me as if I were an animal on display. And that action made me angry - far angrier than if he had simply ridiculed me. Because at leastthatwould have been expected. I allowed my gaze to sweep over him in return because if he was looking at melike that, I would stare right back. Even if staring wasrude-impolite. Gray eyes, dirty blonde hair, dressed in nothing but a white t-shirt and faded jeans. He smelledgood. Not the kind ofgoodthat Paul smelled - he was all expensive aftershave and curated scent. No, O’Grady smelled like thesea. Salty and wild. He didn’t say anything as my gaze tracked down his body, taking in the tattoos on his arms, the ink on his hands and knuckles. He was everything my mother hated, and, yet, I found that that wasn’t even the reason why he peaked my interest. This wasn’t some late rebellious streak that had me taking in O’Grady.No.There was something about the man himself.
“Not a drinker then, huh, Madi?”
I shook my head, unsure how steady my voice would be if I dared to speak.
