He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and said, “Give me a light.”
That was Theo. Never asking, only assuming.
I leaned forward, cupping my hand against the low, salty wind blowing in from the open window. He bent forward, a strand of his hair falling over one eye. As I was lighting his cigarette, I focused on that. The closeness of him, his face a devilish temptation behind the flame.
The flame caught.
He grinned and fell back, blowing out smoke. “Good girl.”
The words seized my gut, but Theo wasn’t even watching me. As if the words came out of his mouth without thought, as easily as the shivers racing up my spine following them.
He leaned with his back against the railing, staring out the open window, cigarette between his pointer and middle finger. The sky was overcast, a soft gray muting the sand. He took another drag, then turned.
And caught me staring.
I quickly looked at the ballroom far beneath my feet.
“How did you find me?” I asked after a minute, voice quiet.
“I’ll always find you, Abigail.”
My eyes snapped to his, finding him watching me already. Those devilish lips were wrapped around the cigarette, pale stare narrowed on me with something too close to possession, made even more searing through the smoke. Maybe it was supposed to be meant as a threat, but his words punched me in the chest as I imagined an alternate world, where Theo still cared.
“So…cigarettes now?”
As far as I knew, The
o didn’t smoke cigarettes. We had a bad habit of smoking together, but it was weed, not cigarettes. I guess that was another thing that changed.
He eyed me down from his nose. “Can’t be high. Not while watching you.”
My gut somersaulted, and I coughed out more smoke.
“So you still come up here?” he asked, blowing out smoke, eyes still locked.
I was hoping he’d forgotten this place. The alcove where we’d laughed and I’d spilled secrets and desires to him. Where he’d held me when I cried.
Theo broke my heart, and I’d tried to forget everything about him, but trying to forget only made me remember him more.
I shrugged. “It didn’t mean that much to me.”
He narrowed his eyes, and I thought he’d call me out, but then he tapped the ash of his cigarette out on the banister. Ash fell like muted glitter to the ballroom.
Then he sat beside me, dangling his feet with mine like we had so many times before. Our thighs and shoulders almost touched, his legs stretched so much farther than mine. There was only enough space for the AC + TH now sandwiched between us to pop out, bold and taunting.
His thighs were thicker now too, but still lean. Were his hands bigger? That seemed improbable.
I knew one major difference for certain. I couldn’t look at him. I could barely breathe.
He traced the very same inscription I had moments before.
“Cute,” was all he said.
“I was young and stupid.” Had I responded too quickly? I took a shaky drag from my joint.
Suddenly he was at my wrist, pulling my joint from my mouth, thumb at my freckle and rubbing it with too much purpose.
“Young and stupid,” he repeated. The wistful edge said there was so much more beneath his words and my heart pounded. His pressure deepened, and my breath caught.