Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
First, Sara shows up with Wally.
Hunter’s other friends wander in, all of them as friendly toward me as the night of homecoming—even stupid Melina Eggers, who glared at me last time I had my back turned to her.
Maybe she doesn’t hate me anymore now that I’m officially with Hunter. If rumors are to be believed, for a minute, she saw me as a rival for Sherlock’s affection—although I’m not sure he actually has any for her.
He doesn’t come to the party with her. He comes alone.
I’m sitting on the couch with Sara as he strolls past. Even though he doesn’t so much as look our way, our conversation dies abruptly and we both watch him saunter into the next room.
Once he’s gone, Sara looks over at me and whispers, “I never did get the sordid details about all that.”
I smile faintly, but demure. “No sordid details to share.”
“He blew up a car for you,” she says, cocking an eyebrow in disbelief. “That’s not exactly a small thing.”
“He didn’t blow it up for me, he just doesn’t like Valerie. He has good taste like that,” I remark.
“I don’t believe you,” Sara says. “Something happened between you two.”
I shake my head, but talking about all this makes my stomach rock, so I latch onto another topic and veer away from this one.
___
As it starts to get dark, the party mostly relocates outside. Some people linger inside for privacy or to continue whatever interactions they were already wrapped up in, but most of us head out back.
Hunter has a fire pit, so he builds a big bonfire to provide a little light and warmth as it gets colder.
Plus, bonfires are just fun to watch. Everyone agrees at first, but it doesn’t take long for everyone to wander off into their natural social groups, which I am not part of.
I don’t move away from the fire, so eventually, I get it all to myself.
Hunter didn’t abandon me, but he is drinking, and when he’s not being a jealous caveman, alcohol makes him even more sociable than he is naturally. He’s goofing off with his friends and being adorable.
I’m happy to hang back and watch him do his thing, but I’ve only had a single drink, so I’m not ready to join in.
Honestly, I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in the world to make me want to join in.
It’s okay, though. I like watching the fire alone. It’s peaceful.
As it gets later, the temperature drops.
Hunter grabbed me a navy blue hoodie from his room to wear, but as I sit on one of the chairs set up around the bonfire and play with the white drawstrings, I’m still a little cold.
Even though it means sitting on the ground instead of one of the chairs, I move closer to the fire, craving the heat.
Ah, much better.
Contentment washes over me as I watch the flames incinerate the wood, turning the once formidable timber into little more than ash.
While watching the flames dance, I become aware of someone walking toward me from the other side of the bonfire. Since I’m sitting on the ground now, I have to look between the flames. They cast a foreboding image, like the man is walking right through them.
I’m not surprised when Sherlock squats down on the other side and tosses some wood on the fire. Sparks fly and the flames jump as if summoned by their master.
I pull my legs back away from it, not wanting to get singed by burning wood.
Sherlock doesn’t budge. He’s not afraid of the fire.
Clearly.
He’s entrancing enough without the warm glow of the fire bathing his handsome features with menace, but as he gazes at me across the flames looking like the worst mistake someone’s ever going to make in their life, I can’t resist telling him, “You’ve got mad super villain vibes, you know that?”
His plump lips pull back into a little smirk and his eyes gleam with amusement. “Oh yeah?”
I nod, hugging my knees a little tighter. I don’t feel as tense around him as I did before, though. Now that things with Hunter are more settled than they’ve ever been, his hypnotic friend holds no power over me.
At least, that’s what I tell myself until Sherlock takes my speaking to him as an invitation to come over and sit by me.
The tension inside me grows just a little as he sits down, but it’s not because of any conflicting feelings this time. It’s him. He’s a predator, and it’s hard to completely relax in his presence.
I was able to before, but only out of sheer ignorance. I was like a child playing with a cobra; I didn’t know he was dangerous. Now I do, and it’s a lesson my body won’t soon forget—even if the immediate threat has passed.
“What color are your eyes?” I ask him.