| CHAPTER THREE |

You're funnier than I remember. Lewd, in the way most guys are when they're trying to impress one another. I keep my back to the alley wall, glad that you talk loud enough to fend off the bouncer. You run your hands through your hair at any pause in conversation, more out of adrenaline than nerves. Your body moves in time with the muted noise of the club and I can tell part of you is dying to get back in there. To let loose to one last song. But something is holding you back. An intrigue, perhaps.

Me?

"I'm originally from Dash Point," you tell me, as though we haven't had this conversation before. As though you haven't said it a million times over since arriving. Your accent sticks out, too sharp on the vowels and too chalky on consonants. You also smile more than anyone else in this town, skin too pale for a sunbaked coastal town that specializes in shit-all and shit-all. I want to kiss you each time you take a drag but I don't.

"That's near Foret Brooke, right?" I entertain you with geography and your eyes light up woth a single patronizing message. Good boy. I can learn, and I'm learning more every day we spend apart. Still, this is agony. Talking ourselves in circles. At some point Charlie pisses himself, calling out attention to it after the fact with a sharp yell at the warm sensation. You curse, choke down the last few drags of your cigarette in a single pull then tend to your friend of the moment. I eye Robin's still form, listening to the slow cadence of his breath. It wouldn't take much to convince you to leave them there, safe in an alley where the bouncer would call them a cab as opposed to let them stew. My lips part with the offer just as you return.

"It's like ninety degrees south of zero out here." You rub your bared forearms but it's just for show. You love the cold, spent more winters buried in snow than anyone else I know. I don't offer you my jacket though, just pass over the last of my cigarette and try not to bask too much in your appreciative grin. "You liking the weather?"

"Prefer the heat." I shrug, gaze lifting to the overhead light. It looks moments away from splintering from the wall it's mounted on. I pray it doesn't bring my incoming death. Not when you're this close. Not when I haven't even tasted you yet.

"I'm sure you do," you smirk and there is a viperous rattle in your tone. You're goading me on, eyes dark, black, as they sift over me. Looking for something I'm not even remotely concerned with trying to hide. "My apartment's got heated floors. Granted, I'm yet to turn them on, but the sentiment is nice nonetheless."

"Are you inviting me over?"

You roll your eyes a little, agitated. You thought you'd like the chase, but it's been a long night, long couple of weeks of pretending. The hunt is over in your eyes. You're ready to slaughter. "Depends on if you're coming?"

I push off the wall, gesturing at the drunkards in the corner. "What about your posey?"

You grit your teeth, biting down on the soggy filter. "I guess we'll have to trust god to watch over their wretched souls this time."