I reach for the scotch bottle next to the bed and see that it’s been replaced with a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water.
“Fine,” I say, resigning myself to meds instead of alcohol to deal today.
I pop two pills and drink the water.
Then I get out of bed. I consider showering or soaking in the tub, but I want to find Langston.
So I just head downstairs, feeling much happier and lighter than I should.
The house is quiet as I hit the bottom step.
I decide to grab a coffee before I continue my search. The pot is still on, and there is enough for one cup left. I pour myself a cup, happily humming a song in my head when my world stops.
I look out the big glass doors that are usually open to the outside by now, but I’m guessing that was Amelia’s job. No one else has gotten into a routine to open the house up yet.
It’s not the closed doors causing my heart to skip—it’s what I see just beyond them.
Langston kissing Phoenix.
Not a chicken peck either, a full-on slam me against the wall and take my breath away kind of kiss. The kind that you get swept up in and don’t notice the world around you. I know what kissing Langston like that feels like. I experienced it last night.
And now he’s kissing Phoenix.
They don’t notice me. How could they, locked in a lip battle like that?
I have two choices—go back to Langston’s room and pretend I didn’t see them, biding my time until I bring the subject up, or make it clear that I see them and I’m pissed.
I’m usually pretty good with self-control. Not today.
Coffee still in hand, I storm through the glass doors, making my presence as obvious as possible. They can’t hide what I saw.
They both stop at the sound of the door swinging open. Or maybe it’s my stomping and the fire shooting from my body that drew their attention my way, but they don’t separate. Phoenix still clings to Langston’s arm.
“So you’re not only a liar; you’re also a cheater,” I say, glaring at Langston. Phoenix, I can’t really be mad at. I thought she was my friend, but then I’ve only known her for a couple of days. I can’t be upset with her. Langston, on the other hand, I want to bury with the fires of hell.
I want to fight. I want to knee Langston in the groin. I want to run him off a cliff.
But I know that not doing any of those things is more powerful. He knows I’m pissed, and now he has to wait to see what my next move will be and when I’ll make it.
I walk past them and head to the beach, wishing I had something stronger than coffee in my hand. I plop down on the sandy beach with
the sun beating down on me. My hot coffee isn’t going to do much to help with the sweltering sun. Soon, I’ll have to go back and get water, or at least find a shady spot to sit.
“I’m not a cheater,” Langston says from behind me.
I snap my head. “Oh, really? What would you call kissing me while you’re dating her? I’m pretty sure most people would classify that as cheating.”
“I only kissed you to get you to stop having your nightmares.” Langston’s hands are in the pockets of his swim trunks, and he’s wearing a plain white T-shirt. He looks like the boy I used to know before Enzo sunk his claws into him. He looks light and carefree, but I can see the turmoil in his eyes.
I nod and glance away. He’s right. He only kissed me to help me. All the rest was just my imagination. Langston didn’t touch me; he didn’t fuck me—it’s true.
I can’t be mad at Langston, at least not for this. But why does it hurt worse than him threatening to kill me?
Probably because deep down, I always thought we had a future together. At least as friends. As one time lovers.
But that was always just a dream.
Still, I want to hurt Langston more than I’ve wanted to torture anyone. I want to strike a hot branding iron into his heart like he did to me with that kiss.