RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,82
to the ground.
“Clearly it didn’t work this time,” Carina observes. “No need to go taking it out on the grass. What’s up?”
“No, no, no, I’m totally fine!” I say it too quickly with far too much enthusiasm. Carina looks at me like I’ve got a screw loose.
“Okay. Well I’m gonna pretend like you’re not acting super fucking weird and I’m gonna wait for you to ask me how last night went.”
“Last night?”
“With Andre! Damn, Elle, I told you I might not come home last night and now here I am at eight in the morning, wearing the same clothes as last night with mascara smudged all over my face and you can’t put two and two together? Spit it out right now. Tell me what’s up with you. Did you have another run-in with Wren?”
My cheeks burst into flame. I sit bolt upright, shaking my head so vehemently that I can feel my brain rattling around inside my skull. “No! Who said anything about Wren? Why would you think that? I haven’t seen him since he waltzed out of Fitz’s class yesterday. Two fifteen? I think it was around two fifteen in the afternoon.”
Carina frowns deeply. “Okaaaay. That was oddly specific.”
“How did everything go with Andre?” I ask, diverting the conversation into safer waters. “Did you enjoy the movie?”
“Fuck the movie. I saw the opening credits and that was it. Ask me what happened. I’ve got no idea. As soon as the lights were out and people started acting, we were all over each other. It was so intense. Like so intense. Have you ever kissed someone, and everything just faded? Reality just slipped away? Have you ever felt like you were melting into someone so viscerally, both physically and mentally, that you don’t even know who you are anymore or what planet you’re fucking on?”
Wren’s hands cupping my face.
Wren’s mouth, fierce and demanding on mine.
Wren’s hot breath, skating over my neck.
His teeth nipping at my skin.
His arms, pinning me to his chest.
The attic, pitching and swimming, fracturing into a million disjointed pieces…
I shake my head, blinking in a daze. “No. No, never. Can’t say that I have.”
“Sounds fucking dumb, but it was magical. Like, real magic. Once the movie was over, I walked with him back to his place, and, well…let’s just say I didn’t get any sleep. I’m exhausted, and my body feels like it’s been stretched in every direction. I can’t lay my legs flat on the floor without my hips creaking like a squeaky door. I’m telling you. That man knows exactly where a woman’s G-spot is. I didn’t have to provide a detailed road map or anything.”
“I’m assuming Dash needed some direction?” I say, closing my eyes. The sun’s far from out, but the sky’s really goddamn bright. I wouldn’t be so blinded by it if I sat up, but I’m still wallowing in too much self-pity to muster up the kind of motivation I’ll need to drag my carcass into an upright position.
“No,” Carina says bitterly. “He knew perfectly well, too. But we’re not talking about him. We’re never talking about him again. As far as we’re concerned, that boy is dead, and no one went to his funeral.”
I try not to smile. “Your wish is my command.”
Carina dives into a full explanation of what happened with Andre. She paints a vivid picture of his house, which he shares with three other guys from college, and how clean and tidy his bedroom was. She told me about his shelves, bristling with football trophies and academic awards—“See! Not all jocks are dumb!”—and then she tells me in intimate detail how Andre made her come three separate times before coming himself, which apparently makes him a gentleman of the highest order.
And the whole time, I lie in the grass, my sweat gone dry and itchy on my skin, and I try not to think about my illicit rendezvous in the attic. Thoughts of Wren plague me. He’s an affliction I can’t escape, no matter how hard I try. The look in his burning green eyes, when he pulled away and ended our kiss, was…fuck, it felt honest. He didn’t seem like he was putting on a show. He appeared to be as flustered and stunned as I was, which just doesn’t seem possible. My gut tells me otherwise, though.
“Elodie? Are you listening? And why are you holding your fingers to your mouth like that?”
Shit. My fingertips suddenly feel singed. I lower my hand, guilt gouging dagger-sharp