I barely make it halfway down the hall before Phyre finds me. Like she’s brandishing some sort of invisible radar that’s programmed to track only me.
She steps free of the shadows, stands right before me, and says, “
Hey, Dace.” Her voice soft, her smile pretty.
But it’s the wrong pretty.
Not the pretty I seek.
I nod in acknowledgment. Start to move away. Stopped by her fingers circling my wrist as she pulls me back to her.
“Can we talk?”
I slide my eyes closed. Search for a kind way to tell her to quit thinking of me. Quit stalking me. To leave the past where it belongs—dead and buried.
Opening my eyes again to find myself staring at Daire on the other side of the room, unwilling to break the gaze now that I’ve found her.
“You’re always in such a hurry. You never have any time for me.” Phyre tugs on my arm. Using the tip of her fingernail to trace light circles over my skin in a desperate bid to claim my attention.
I drag my gaze from Daire and focus on Phyre. “There’s nothing to talk about.” I twist free of her grip.
“You say that—but how can you be sure?” She cocks her head to the side, allowing a spray of curls to slide across her cheek. It’s a well-rehearsed, overplayed move. “For starters, aren’t you curious as to why I came back?”
I just shoot her a patient look, hoping it’ll help speed things along.
“It’s no accident, you know.”
“If memory serves—nothing you do is an accident,” I say, remembering all the random times she seemed to just happen to be in the same place as me. How it took a while to realize there was nothing random about it. Though it’s not like I cared. I was just happy to be noticed by a female who wasn’t my mom. The fact that Phyre was so pretty was an added boon.
“You were always so quiet, so introspective. It wasn’t easy to get your attention.”
“You managed though, didn’t you?” My gaze meets hers, and when I see her flinch, I’m surprised to find I enjoy it, which is not at all like me. Must be that piece of Cade asserting its influence. Reminding me I’m no longer the same guy I used to be.
“True,” she admits, shoulders lifting. “What can I say? When I set my sights on something or someone, I usually—no, scratch that—I always get what I want.”
Her gaze is open. Direct. A challenge I’m meant to either deflect or accept. But, instead, I meet it with a face so impassive it gives nothing away.
“After all, I got you, didn’t I?”
My eyes graze over her, allowing myself to indulge in a few clips from the memory reel.
Sneaking away from our parents’ prying eyes in pursuit of a few heady moments under a blanket of stars … a first kiss—her lips determined and sure, mine overeager and inexperienced … a first feel—my awkwardness trumped by her surprising proficiency … another first—the one she insisted upon—though that’s not to say I wasn’t willing … and right after that, they were gone …
Cutting the movie that plays in my head, I meet her gaze and say, “Temporarily. For a short while, I would’ve followed you anywhere.”
“It may have been brief, but for me it was totally worth it. Then again, I was all too willing to settle for whatever crumb you tossed my way.”
“You sure about that?” I fetch a whole different memory—one where she manipulated me into wanting her, needing her, having her—and then, bam—next thing I knew, her family packed up and left, never to be seen or heard from again. The only thing that surprised me is how quickly I recovered. I thought it would hurt more than it did. It’s because of her that I learned to differentiate lust from love. Shortly after, I made a deal with myself to never settle for less.
“It’s not my fault we moved.” She wages a playful defense. “But just so you know, now that I’m back, I’m unwilling to settle again. While it’s kind of embarrassing to admit, truth is, I never stopped missing you. I never stopped thinking about you.” She pauses, allows her tongue to cross her lips, leaving them shiny and wet. “I never gave up on you.”
I swipe a hand over my chin, deciding brutal honesty is the only way to derail this. “Phyre. You were young and sad. You’d just lost your mom, and you were looking for a way to feel better—a way to feel alive—and I just happened to be there. That’s all it ever was. Don’t romanticize it into meaning something it didn’t.”
“Funny, that’s not at all how I remember it.”
I shake my head, try to look away. But the next thing I know, she’s grabbed my wrist again. Her lips softly parting, hovering mere inches from mine. Her determination so steady, she barely reacts when I say, “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” Her fingers form circles, her mouth angles toward mine.