My father will likely shit a brick when he finds out what I donated, and to who—but frankly, I don’t give a shit.
Dropping her hands, she taps her knee, eyes glazing over as she contemplates. The inside of her clutch illuminates, a phone screen flashing with an incoming call, but she ignores it.
Taps some more.
My threshold for patience is wearing thin, and I take another step toward her, noting that we’re beginning to draw something of a crowd. Onlookers slink closer, predators circling in, desperate to get a look at what’s captivating the always-mobile Aiden James.
“My friends forced me to come tonight. I didn’t know what I was signing up for.”
“Friends?” She nods, and I reach out, possessed by some inhuman force that needs to touch her. My fingers tuck a strand of soft hair behind her tiny ear, slipping under her jaw and tilting her chin up. “They made you come, and left you by yourself?”
“I don’t think they like me very much.”
Scoffing, I shake my head. “How is that possible?”
Her head tilts. “You can say that because you just met me.”
“Well, I haven’t met your friends, and I think they sound dreadful. That they could force someone else into doing something and then ditch them when they get what they want says enough.”
The girl quiets, eyes dark as she studies me. I don’t know what she’s thinking, and the ignorance is unnerving. I want to climb inside her mind and see what she thinks of me.
See what she’s afraid of, what makes her tick.
For a long moment, neither of us says a word. Anxiety slicks down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling as more eyes fall to us.
I start to worry she’s still going to refuse. A plea digs into my tastebuds, bitter as it bleeds into me. I don’t fucking beg, and yet I find myself on the verge for this stranger.
It’s all-consuming, this sudden need for her to come with me.
Completely unhinged.
Obsessive.
But I’m not ready to let her go.
My hand falls to my side, and she glances at it, tracing the lines of the Gorgon inked there.
“An adventure.” She licks her lips, then pushes to her feet. I have to dip my chin downward to meet her gaze, and the position makes my chest swell with arousal. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
5
I’m not sure where I’m expecting him to take me.
Before we leave, Aiden pulls a Yankees ball cap and a pair of red hipster-style glasses from his hoodie and slips them on. Not the greatest of disguises, but with his hair covered and the collar of his jacket pulled up, I almost don’t recognize him.
We slip out a back exit, my pulse thrumming like a turbulent storm, and part of me anticipates being shoved into a back alley and taken advantage of.
Even though I try to convince myself a celebrity wouldn’t hurt me, not in such a public space, I can’t fully shake the fear. It cinches tight in my chest as Aiden pulls me under a strip of scaffolding behind the building, my throat constricting from the nerves.
The other, slightly more optimistic part of me is prepared to duck into the back of an SUV, secret service–style, so we can navigate Manhattan unnoticed. But as we weave through the crowded sidewalks, he makes no move to get inside any vehicles.
Pain splices up the arches of my feet as I sprint to keep pace with him, cursing my short legs and unfamiliarity with heels.
This is by far the craziest thing I’ve ever done, and if my brother could see me now, he’d definitely have me committed. Frankly, I’m feeling a little out of sorts myself, but my options for the night weren’t great.
I owe it to the old me to indulge in this, even if it still seems like some kind of fever dream.
Sixteen-year-old Riley, who was obsessed with this man and his music is sated, at least.
The tall, tattooed rock star comes to a standstill at a busy intersection, spinning in a circle to pin me with a bright smile. “Do you smell that?”
Pausing midstep, I cock my head and inhale.
A myriad of scents assault me; expensive perfumes from passersby, damp concrete, and the unmistakable smell of garbage. It’s hard to pinpoint any one thing, really, because they all sort of mesh together like a rainbow of paints mixing to make the color brown.
“Uh… you’ll have to be more specific.” Chilly air whips across my bare skin, but I hardly feel it with the adrenaline coursing through me.
Aiden jogs over, shaking the sleeves of his jacket so more of his ink is revealed; on one arm, I see an animated compass, its face shattered, and the shards morphing into a flock of birds taking flight. On the other, I see the bottom half of a Rubik’s cube, one of the first tattoos he ever got.
My nose scrunches up. It’s weird to have such intimate information on someone, without having been told it by them.
“Don’t make that face,” Aiden says, walking behind me. “You can’t judge before you’ve experienced it.”
“I don’t know what I’m—”
His hands come down over my eyes, and on instinct, I pinch them closed, my entire body going stiff as a board. The rings on his fingers are cool against my skull, but the compromising position keeps me from being able to enjoy it.
Reflexively, my hands reach up, grabbing his wrists.
It’s a mistake; they’re thick, and the pulse in his corded veins has mine flaring to life, as if I’ve just been resuscitated.
And I would know—I’ve been brought back to life once before.
A shiver works through me, goose bumps sprouting along my skin at his touch, mingling with the cold air.
“Relax,” he coos, words coasting across my hair. No other part of him touches me, just his hands and damp breaths. “We’re on a crowded street in New York City. Every other person that passes by can’t help but look at you, so I’m sure there’d be no hesitation to step in if someone thought you were in danger.”
I scoff, my shoulders still tight. “They’re probably looking at you.”
“If they noticed me, we’d be swarmed by a sea of paps right now. Trust me, angel, all eyes are on you.”