"Okay." He repeats, his mouth close enough to mine that I feel the air brush over it as he leans forward to unbuckle my seat belt.
I'm keenly aware of how close he is to me, and as his eyes dip down to where the top two buttons on my flannel are open to reveal a tasteful amount of cleavage, I feel my nipples pebbling in my bra.
"You're so fucking beautiful." He croons, his fingertips reaching out to trace my jaw. They catch beneath the hollow of my chin, which he uses to bring my mouth to his.
His tongue slides against mine, the flavor of the bourbon mixing with something sweet and spicy on his. His kiss is lazyand exploratory, slow and sweet, like he's been wondering how it would be to taste me the whole time we've been together in the cab of this truck.
We taste good together— a sweet heat, clean and warm, and as his lips move against my own, we work together well, too. He's a good kisser, and everything inside of me loosens the longer he does it.
The impact of something against the window behind me makes me jump, parting from him as if I've been scalded. A face is pressed into the glass, framed by their own hands as they try to get a peek at what we're up to.
"Jackson." Krowe rolls his eyes before they turn back to mine. "I wish it wasn't his turn to pick."
"To pick what?"
Krowe doesn't answer, because the door opens behind me, and arms wrap around me.
I don't get a chance to say anything, to scoot away from them toward Krowe, to ask what the fuck is going on.
Two hands turn into four, and suddenly, I'm dragged from the truck. Before the door shuts, the last thing I see is Krowe shaking his head, exasperated.
Chapter 3
Fourshotsin,andI was right. Icansocialize with the best of them, and I have.
Krowe was right, too, about me being popular tonight. I suppose they don't get a lot of West Coast transplants to the middle of Hollow Fields, Kansas. And just as I predicted, everyone wants to know all the things.
We're in the middle of a cornfield, just like he said. The front of the cemetery is fenced, but the back isn't. It's like they gave up and decided no one was going to go stalking through cornfields just to break into the cemetery. And you would, indeed, have to go stalking through it. We left the truck at the start of the field, because there's no car path, and then had to pick our way through rows of corn. I lost sight of Krowe a few times, but his hand in mine assured me I wasn't going to get left in the row of corn cobs and never find my way back to civilization.
Our party grounds are in the center of the corn, where a large space has been cleared away. It seems a little reckless to have a bonfire in the middle of it all, lest the wind catch a stray ember and set the whole field ablaze, but it's clear they do this all the time. Besides, I'm grateful for the warmth of the fire. The flannel isn't cutting it alone, even with the alcohol warming my veins.
"I just don't get it, though.” The guy who introduced himself to me as Vick says, “You're so pale..."
It's the second time he's said that. This time, I choose not to dignify that with a response, turning my attention to Krowe. He sits across the fire from me, leaning forward in his seat like he's thinking of making a break for it and coming to snag me from the present company. Instead, he stays seated, his grin flashing brighter when he sees me wave.
"Cute couple." Jackson says, though his voice sounds far from entertained.
"We're not a couple." I shrug, bouncing the ball of my foot against the ground beneath my chair.
My fingers are frozen, and I stuffed them below my thighs, but it's not enough.
"In that case, let me keep you warm." Rhodes wiggles his fingers for me to come to him, and though I suspect he's flirting, I decide it's worth it for the chance to warm up a little... and maybe make Krowe jealous. He's been watching me every timeI look up, but other than the kiss in his truck, he hasn't made a move. In fact, he hasn't really talked to me at all. It's almost like he's ashamed of me all of a sudden.
I stand and cross to Rhodes' open arms, letting him snare me against his broad chest. He wraps the flaps of his letterman jacket across my back and then closes his arms to envelope me in his warmth. He's a big guy, and his body heat is impressive... and cozy. I breathe a sigh of relief and catch a drift of his soap or cologne, something distinctly cedar.
"That's it, New Girl." Someone mocks. "Let old Rhodes warm you up."
"I guess I should be grateful you all dressed... like that."
One dead quarterback costume is gimmicky.
Twelve dead quarterback costumes is weird.Iknow that, but I'm not sure they do.
Everyone here is dressed the same... jeans, the state university jacket, and a plain white tee beneath it. The only thing different about each of their costumes is the manner in which they 'died'. Jackson sports a bullet wound on the forehead, Rhodes has a prop knife sticking out of his shoulder blade, and the guy sitting next to Krowe has his neck painted with fake blood that drips onto his tee shirt. I've done a good job avoiding the elephant in the cornfield, which is that it all feels a little... culty.
"You haven't heard about the Hollow Fields Scarecrow, yet, I take it?" Rhodes hums with laughter.
I have to tip my head back to look up at him.
