Gorgeous Misery (Creeping Beautiful)

I can’t stop the smile, and neither can she, so when our lips touch, this smile exchanges between us. It’s like a happiness transfer. That’s what I give her. But she gives me trust.

When I back away, I take her hand and lead her into her bedroom. I bought a ton of candles for this reunion. Three-foot-tall pillars. Candelabras. Several dozen votives. It’s magical.

Because that’s what Wendy deserves.

If ever there was a girl who needed the happily ever after—deserved the happily ever after—it is this one right here.

“Stop looking at me.”

I can’t. I can’t stop looking at her. I will never want to stop looking at her. And I don’t even know how this happened. I don’t even know how I fell in love with her.

Am I in love with her? Or is this just our predetermined inevitability?

Is she just the only girl left? Is she just the default love interest?

She thinks so, but I know better. That’s not what this is.

It’s not the job, either.

Wendy Gale is lying in bed next to me, naked. It’s five am on New Year’s Eve morning and we have made it seven full days in the same place.

A record.

We haven’t spent this many consecutive days together since she was in her early teens and I like it.

The white bed sheet is only half covering her small, lean body. And the curve of her back is calling to me. I trace my finger down her spine and her skin prickles up at my touch. Not in a creepy way, but a shivery way.

Her reaction is anticipation.

“Stop. Looking at me.”

She’s lying on her stomach, her face buried in the pillow, her gorgeous blonde hair spilling over her bare shoulders in unruly waves, so she can’t see me. But she doesn’t need to see me. We have known each other for seventeen years. She was there the day my first life ended and my second one began. She was only five years old, but she was there.

Wendy turns over and pushes her hair away from her face. “What the hell are you looking at?”

She’s almost always like this. Snappish and testy. But I don’t mind.

“You love me,” I say simply. And it comes with a knowing smile.

She doesn’t smile back. It takes more than a little flirty joke to make her smile, at least on the outside. But I know how she works. I know how she processes things. So her mind is whirling, looking for a comeback.

“I love nothing,” she says, smug now.

“Not true.”

“Why are you being weird?” She props herself up on her elbow and squints with disapproval at the snow glare infiltrating its way through the curtains.

“Why is it weird? I’m just appreciating you.”

She makes a face. It’s kinda like a wince and it comes with a crinkled nose. This face is adorable, but it’s not meant to be. And that just makes it even more adorable. “And why are you smiling at me? For fuck’s sake, Nick. Don’t start with me today. I’m not staying here and there’s nothing you can say to change that.”

I know she’s leaving. I also know she’s right. There aren’t enough words in the universe to change her mind once it’s made up. Besides, until I come up with a better plan, this is just how it has to be.

I trace my fingertip down her arm and she shivers again. Her hand comes up to push me off.

But I was anticipating that. My palm collides with hers and then our fingers are laced together. I climb on top of her, my inner thighs gripping her hips just in case she gets edgy. Then I grab both her wrists and pin them high above her head.

She doesn’t know what to do. She wants to be in a bad mood. She wants to get up, pack up her shit, get in her truck, and leave. She wants to push me away.

But things are changing and she can feel it. Not only that, she likes it.

I shake my head at her. “It’s not working anymore, and you know it.”

This makes her huff. “I’m in control of what works.”

“Don’t fight it. Just give in.”

Now she smiles, her eyes drifting down to stare at my mouth. They slowly migrate back up and I can see all the little flecks of color in there. So many blues. But her eyes are not completely blue, not like most of the Zero girls’. Then again, Wendy never was a typical Zero. Her eyes have flecks of light brown and a little bit of gold. They are the exact color of a blackbird egg, speckled and wild.

Everything about her is speckled and wild.

“Kiss me, then,” she whispers.

“Just get it over with?” I laugh. “Not likely. I’m gonna take my fucking time. And you’re gonna like it.”

That cracks her, because she huffs out an incredulous laugh. But she also wriggles, trying to get free. I’m six foot two and I’ve got sixty pounds on this girl, easy. She’s a tiny thing. Of course, her size has no bearing on her fighting skills. She’s better trained than most professional assassins. Nine times out of ten a guy my size has no chance at all of overpowering Wendy Gale. She’s that dangerous.