Page 37 of Revel
I don’t know. She’s fucking thrilling to watch and yet so destructive because she has no idea what it’s like, drawing in madness like me.
Hours pass and Red turns to me, drunk, her passion for life a flurry of smiles and pink cheeks and cuts to my indifference. “Why are you being nice to me? It’s freaking me out. I keep thinking you’re setting me up to do something mean.”
Fear runs through my veins. I want her here, but not her words. I want her warmth, but to be indifferent to the touch. The room fills with laughter and music, yet my mind is silent near her. Lashes lift, she catches my gaze, giving me a tentative, nervous smile. I watch as she tucks her hair behind her ears.
“I don’t know,” I say thickly, because for now, I’m lost. My lungs squeeze and nothing’s calming inside me. Everything is crumbling to soot and cinder, the flame of her words the only survivor. “You fascinate me.”
“Why?”
The hunger in her stare takes me by surprise. I can’t stop myself. She begs me without saying the words. Her unspoken words consume and possess me.“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
PLAYING GAMES WITH THE DEVIL
TAYLAN
Everything hurts the next morning. So bad. Every movement I make, another muscle screams for me to stop.
What the heck happened last night? Did I drink too much? I usually control that. I don’t drink very often. I’ve found through my limited experience, I’m a really obnoxious drunk and completely tone deaf. I find the need to yell. Constantly. And for no reason. It’s like I think people can’t hear me. Or maybe I can’t hear myself. I’m not entirely sure.
Shifting, I notice the way the material from the sheets slides against my skin. My eyes snap open, and I rip the sheet back. Dang it! Yep. I’m naked. No doubt about it.
Please, oh please, don’t let some random dude be lying next to me.Or worse,him. Not that I’m sure it wouldn’t have been good, but I don’t want to not remember it, and I can tell by the soreness in my body and the fuzzy details regarding last night, I drank too much, and I won’t remember.
Flopping my hands over my face, behind closed lids I try to recall, or even piece together, any details of the night after getting out of the limo with Revel. To my dismay, nothing comes to mind. Nothing.
Please tell me I didn’t get a tattoo.Girl, that should be the least of your worries. Why you’re naked and where your clothes are should be number one.
Sitting up, I yank the sheets up around under my arms to shield my breasts. Glancing around the room, I think I know why I don’t remember anything. There are numerous empty mini-liquor bottles strewn around the room and what looks to be a pizza box, empty as well, on the floor. At least I know where my clothes are now. I see them scattered across the carpet like I stripped on my way to the bed. Or someone removed them for me?
Oh please, no!
I palm my face, shaking my head back and forth. “What have I done?”
That’s when I hear noises from the bathroom. I jump out of bed, still with the sheet around me and tiptoe to the door and press my ear up against it. Immediately, I regret jumping up so fast because it’s clear I’ve contributed to the tiny bottles on the floor, and maybe even responsible for the majority of them.
The noises coming from the bathroom stop and then I hear what sounds like scratching.
Reaching for the handle, I take a good grip on the sheet and think about opening the door. I hesitate. My hand even begins to shake, and I swallow over what feels like sand in my throat. I’ve seenThe Hangover.
Please don’t be a tiger.
Is your heart jumping out of your chest like mine? Girl, please. I’m standing on the other side of what could possibly be a wild animal. Think of me, not yourself!
I need something to defend myself with should it be a tiger, don’t I? My eyes make a quick sweep of the room in search of anything sharp or dull that could possibly protect me. Unless I can fight the potential tiger off with plastic bottles or my bra, I’m screwed.
There is, however, a Zippo lighter on the dresser next to the bathroom door, so I grab that. If anything, I’ll set the entire room on fire. With a deep breath, I pull down on the handle and crack the door enough to stick my head in.
There’s no tiger, but there is fur. A big ball of it lying on the floor. It’s white, and black, and moving around. My vision blurs. I blink, rapidly, trying to clear it and focus through the dim lighting to make out what exactly is lying on the white marble floor.
I’m not even joking when I say it looks something similar to a very large skunk. With legs. Oh, wait. Is that a man wearing a fur coat? I do that thing that cats and dogs do when they tip their head to the side in an attempt to make sense of what they’re seeing or hearing. Shit balls. It really is a man wearing a fur coat.
And then he shifts from his prone position on the floor, groans, and flops over.
I know that face. I don’t have to blink rapidly to clear my vision because he’s a sight to see, bathed in honey hues of the morning sun. Revel Slade. In my hotel bathroom.
Or am I in his? I have no clue, but why he’s wearing a fur coat and only his boxers, is another question I have. And I’m still naked, so does that mean we slept together?
By the gentle rise and fall of his chest, I’m assuming he’s sleeping, until he opens one eye at me and lifts his head. He doesn’t say anything, but I think he makes a pass over my sheet-covered body and smirks, his head falling back against the marble. “Christ, Red. Turn the light off.”
