These Thorn Kisses (St. Mary’s Rebels 3)

Salem and Poe look at each other first before glancing at me warily. Then Salem bursts out, “Oh my God.” She turns to Poe. “She doesn’t have her sketchpad.”

Poe glances down at my hands and gasps. “Oh God, yes. How did I not notice this before? Where’s your sketchpad?”

“Back in my room.” I don’t give them a chance to protest anymore and take off my parka — magenta, with yellow flowers that I’ve painted on it myself — throw it on the high table we’re standing at and grab Salem’s arm. “Are we dancing or not?”

And then I drag her onto the dance floor.

Because again, tonight is special.

Not only because I’m in his town while knowing I’m in his town, but also because for the first time ever, I have an urge to feel these sad songs.

I have an urge to live in them.

Callie and Salem are huge fans of this music and they’ve always talked about their love for sad songs. Probably because they’ve both felt heartbreak and longing.

I never understood it though.

Not until he came to St. Mary’s.

Not until I realized that he’s felt it too. He’s felt the heartbreak, the longing.

He’s felt the loneliness.

So I want to feel it too.

I want to feel his pain.

I want to feel these thorny, stinging emotions. I want to steal them from him, absorb them into my skin that he thinks is velvet and my body that he thinks is fragile and small.

And color myself all pink for him.

So I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I try to feel the woman’s raspy voice and her words of a tragic love. Before I raise my arms and push my fingers through my light brown tresses, loose and long.

I slowly sway my hips and bend my knees.

Before I drop down on the ground and part my thighs.

And as I come up, I’m flowing with the music. I’m flowing with her words. I’m flowing with his pain.

I’m flowing with him.

So much so that I feel a sting behind my eyes. I feel the tears. They fall down my cheeks, hot and sad, and I let them.

I let them make my cheeks wet for him. I let myself cry for him. I let myself hurt as I throw my head back and gyrate my hips.

Until someone grabs my arm and my heart jumps in fright.

I pop my eyes open; it’s Salem, who leans over and whispers in my ear, “He’s here.”

I blink at her. “What?”

“The guy you were dancing for.” She throws me a grave look before adding, “And crying for.”

My eyes widen when I understand her meaning. “Conrad?”

Her smile is tiny and kind of sad. “I knew it. I knew something was going on with you and him.” She looks behind me. “Okay, we don’t have much time. But we’re gonna talk about this later.” She gives me a quick hug then. “Good luck.”

With that she leaves and I spin around.

And there he is.

At the edge of the dance floor.

Taller than everyone. And so easily noticeable.

Even though the space is dark with only meager lighting, he’s easy to make out. He’s so easy to stop and make way for.

Because that’s what people are doing.

They’re stopping mid-dance to look up at him, to part and build a clear path for him.

I think it’s his eyes. That are making them do that.

They are glittering in the dark. Shining with something that can only be described as predatory. And dominating.

Or it could be his shoulders, so wide and straight that people and obstacles have no choice but to move out of his way. Because he seems unstoppable.

He looks like a force to be reckoned with.

A force that won’t stop until it gets where it wants to go.

To me.

And I can’t help but brace myself for the impact.

I can’t help but welcome it with heaving breaths and my soft, receptive body. And when he does get here, I tilt up my neck to look at his sharp, beautiful features. “Hi.”

He sweeps his shiny eyes over my face for a second and clenches his jaw.

Then, “Follow me.”

He’s staring at me.

He’s been staring at me for the past thirty seconds.

Give or take, I mean.

Not that I mind really, because I’m staring at him back. This is the first time I’m seeing him after the break. Actually, I wasn’t expecting to see him until Monday, when school actually starts, but still; even though we hate St. Mary’s – except me – we usually come back to campus earlier since most of my girls want to stay home as less as possible.

Anyway, when he said to follow him, I did.

Of course I did, and now we’re in a room at the back of the bar. It’s a small office-like space with a desk, a leather couch and a dresser set by the wall.