SNAPPED (The Slate Brothers 1)

Sebastian has his hands in his pockets, shoulders back, chin up. He tilts his head up to the sky and observes the few stars visible despite the city lights’ interference. He lowers his chin, looks left, then right. He’s looking for something. No, he’s looking for me— I know it’s true, impossible and terrible as it seems.

I feel a war of conflicting emotions.

I hate that I like knowing he is looking for me.

Little ‘ol me.

And if he wasn’t a Slate boy, I’d be jumping up and down for joy inside myself at the notion that someone like him was potentially interested in me.

But then I remind myself I’m simply lucky I know what he’s really like under the surface. I know the kind of person he is because he’s publicly standing by his horrible father despite all of the evidence that says his dad is a cold-blooded killer.

I press myself down into an even smaller ball, hoping he’ll go away before I get trapped in his eyes again. What the hell is he doing? I totally messed up the whole kissing thing, so why the hell would he seek me out? Maybe I’m wrong, maybe he’s not looking for me, maybe he just wanted to step outside—

“Are you hiding from me?” Sebastian asks.

I flinch, and look up through my lashes and hair spilled in front of my face. “No,” I lie.

“Really?” he asks doubtfully.

“I was looking for an earring,” I say quickly, and run my fingers across the obviously bare ground. When I look back up, Sebastian appears to be barely holding in a laugh. I rise, brush my hands off on my skirt, and try to cut past him. “Well, can’t find it. Better get back inside, Marcie will be by for your order—“

Sebastian catches my arm as I go past him, and I jolt away, even though his touch was light. He’s still a Slate, after all, I can’t just let him put his hands on me—

“Did I make you that angry by kissing you?” he asks, voice firm, but doubtful. I swallow, still avoiding those dark brown eyes. I wish he hadn’t mentioned the kissing. I really wish he hadn’t mentioned it in that voice, all controlled and smooth. His voice makes my stomach clench and my heartbeat quicken.

“No, of course not.“

“Then why are you trying so hard to give me the cold shoulder tonight?” he presses.

I turn back to him, hold my hands out at my sides, and dare to meet his eyes— I steel myself for it first, of course, by taking a deep, affirming breath. “I’m at work.”

“You were at work last night,” he says, still firm, still unyielding. His voice holds me down as easily as his hands could. And they could, of course. So, so easily. He could take my wrists in one hand, I’m sure, lock me in place--

Stop thinking like that, I scold myself.

Sebastian takes a step toward me. “I’ve been thinking about that kiss, actually. I’ve been trying to work out why you didn’t kiss me back.”

“Look, my tables are—“

“Because everything about you is saying you want me to do a lot more than kiss you.” He tilts his head to the side as he says this, like he’s seeing one such thing about me at this very moment.

My lips part and I step back. “That is incredibly presumptive. I barely even know you.” Except, my voice is sort of a whisper. It’s the opposite of his— wary and nervous where his is calm and confident.

He takes another step toward me, undoing my retreat. “I barely know you, but I know I want to do a lot more than kiss you.”

I take a breath, and wish I hadn’t— he’s close enough that my lungs fill with the scent of him, and it clouds my mind. He’s so good-looking, but it’s more than that; he’s so…intoxicating.

I wonder if this was how my poor aunt felt about his father. The thought should make me afraid, but I’m not.

Nothing about him frightens me, other than his last name.

Everything about him makes me want to step forward, makes me want to press my body against his and feel his strong arms around me. I can feel myself losing the where-with-all to stay away, and when he takes another step forward, I swear, he knows it— because he smiles a bit, like he’s won something.

And he has, I suppose, because my heart is pounding and my stomach clenching with anticipation. I want him to take another step. I want him to kiss me again, and this time, I want to kiss him back instead of freezing up.

“But of course,” he says, voice a growling whisper, “if you want me to leave you alone, I will.” He’s so close now, and his hands rise, fingertips hovering just above the curve of my neck, so close to touching me that I shudder. He moves his hands along the line of my shoulder, still not touching me, but coming so close that I actually whimper out loud.