Page 77 of Revel
Running my fingers over the rim to my wineglass, I don’t meet his eyes when I say, “You’re going to be alone on Christmas.”
“I prefer it that way.”
“What about your brothers? Or your grandma? Don’t you want to see your family?”
“Oma doesn’t want me around.” Sighing, he downs the remainder of his glass, then runs his hands over his wet hair. It stands up at odd angles as he reaches for his cigarettes next to the glass. “Landon has his own thing going, and Bonner, who the fuck knows. None of us have spent Christmas together since Jenna died.”
“That’s sad.” Leaning to the side, I set my wine on the edge of the hot tub. “Maybe you should reach out to them.”
“Like I said, Red, I prefer to be alone,” he snaps, lighting his cigarette. Tossing the lighter aside, it falls off the edge and hits the patio concrete with a ping, his mood shifting.
Crap, I pissed him off.
Drawing in a heavy breath, he moves toward me, his chin dipping below the water. I’m amazed he keeps his cigarette in his mouth while doing it.
When he’s close enough, my fingers shake as I reach for the cigarette pursed between his lips. I don’t know if this is something he’s going to allow, but I try anyway. Careful of the flame, I pinch the end by his lips. His part, and let me take it from him, smoke billowing through his nose and mouth. I swallow, our eyes connected.
“Don’t you dare put that in your fucking mouth,” he warns, his eyes heavy, his breathing kicking up when I slide my other hand between us. He’s not hard, but aroused at least.
“What would you do if I did?” I taunt, acting like I’m going to, and knowing I wouldn’t. I hate smoking and wish he’d quit.
“I don’t think you want to find out.” And before I can react, he dunks my hand, snuffing the cigarette and then rips it from my fingers, tossing it outside the hot tub.
He says nothing more, at least not with his words because now he’s holding my face in his palms. His fingers are hot on my cool skin exposed outside of the water, the sensation both relaxing and jolting at the same time. Oh, how I crave this touch.
“You should quit smoking.”
His lips barely touch steamy skin. “You should stop talking,” he whispers with the slightest pressure to my lips. “And start fucking.”
My hands shake as I bring them to cover his. “Okay.”
He kisses me once more, then moves his mouth lower, to the purple marks on my throat from his fingers. His warm breath blowing over my shivering skin exposed to the cool night air. “How are you going to explain this?”
My lip catches between my teeth, green locked on harsh blue as I breathe out, “The wolf was hungry, and I was happy to be the prey.”
Beneath a starry night, I’m hypnotized by a rough touch and the rhythm of his words. For now, for tonight, while I pretend this means something. My heart is so full. I’ve finally found my place in the world where I don’t question whether or not I belong. Even if it’s in hiding and only meant for us, I belong here with the man possessing my every thought.
MAYBE IT’S BETTER THIS WAY
REVEL
Christmas Eve, Red leaves on a flight to LA, and I’m left alone on Christmas. It’s my twenty-fifth birthday.
I don’t tell her.
I know what you’re thinking. I should have asked her to stay, or at the very least told her it was my birthday. I didn’t because she would have stayed and maybe that’s why I didn’t tell her. I’m not sure of the answer.
I think about it long after she’s gone. Longer than I want to. Believe it or not, I’ve never invited anyone up to my cabin with me. So why Red? Because I needed time alone with her to understand where this is going. And also, I didn’t want her with my band or near Breckin, so that meant I had to take her with me.
The question remains, how do I feel about her?
Not a fucking clue. If anything, I’m worse with indecisiveness. I’m swimming in feelings I don’t understand, nor do I want to. So I drink because it’s what I do.
I finish off that bottle of Middleton that was in the cabin, and then I move onto wine and whatever else I can find to keep from thinking of her.
My brothers call to wish me a happy birthday and Merry Christmas. It always sucked having my birthday on Christmas growing up because it wasn’t like you could celebrate either.
Oma calls me to wish me a happy birthday. I send the call to voice mail. I’m drunk, and I know the lecture that’ll come with it.“Rev, you’re killing yourself.”
