Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

THIRTY-SEVEN “Skin”

THIRTY-SEVEN

“Skin”

Zola Jesus

Natalie

M y throat dries instantly, the intensity in Easton’s gaze stifling my reply to Chad. My chest rises and falls rapidly from sensory overload as I drink him in. He’s dressed like he was this morning, short black boots with a metal ring clasp, dark cuffed jeans, and a black T-shirt. His hair damp from a recent shower, one side of it tucked behind his ear. The leather cuffs he wore today clasped around both wrists.

My cheeks heat from the desire spike due to the amber jade flames being thrown my way. It’s a heady mix, those eyes . . . and an expression I’ve never seen on him—accusation, possessiveness, lust, jealousy . . . judgment? We stare off for several seconds as Chad suggests he secure us another drink before we head downstairs. All I can do is nod as Easton and I stare off and remain planted, waiting at the bar. Despite my conflicted state, I can only hope my return gaze reads something like, I’m here, asshole. N ow what?

Because he forced me here. He wanted to see my reaction to this. I’m sure of it.

I lift challenging brows to him, praying my skin doesn’t betray me as my ache for him escalates. He’s so fucking beautiful, especially sitting stock-still, a statue surrounded by a thousand-mile-an-hour world, expression filled with lividity. The joke’s on those surrounding him, though, because he’s the supernova, the one passing them at lightning speed.

Sadness laces the thought, and I briefly wonder if this atmosphere will eventually end up curbing his momentum or worse, deter him, as it has countless others. He’s made me aware of just how unappealing that fate is for him, but as it seems right now, it’s not the case.

Do I even truly know him?

That thought pains me more, that I might not—at least not after his actions today.

Chad’s subtle cologne wafts from where he stands next to me, and though it’s all wrong, the innate need to rub up against someone, anyone, to relieve the pulse between my legs and numb the growing ache in my chest starts to overpower me.

All l can feel now is the masculine presence surrounding me, but it’s the lone, extreme look of the man staring that’s weakening me with each passing second. Still, I’m determined to finish this fight with my dignity intact.

Doing my best to gauge Easton’s expression, a woman disrupts my view as she moves to stand in front of him, hovering between his spread knees. A spear of ice smashes into my chest, driving in deeper as I study her. Gorgeous—dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, curvy figure—absolutely beautiful. It’s the appearance of his fingers resting casually on her hips as she bends to talk to him that sets my insides ablaze.

“Natalie?”

Chad rejoins me, a vodka bottle secured in his hand and a mixer in the other as she walks away, giving me a full view of Easton without interruption—he slowly lifts his chin to me in summons. My chest visibly bounces once with my laugh and refusal.

My answering expression? Go fuck yourself.

“Oh shit, that’s Easton Crowne, isn’t it?” Chad shouts, following my gaze and tuning into our stare-off. Hands full, he bristles next to me, his lingering question breaking me out of my stupor.

Focus on Chad, who’s attainable, present, and who wouldn’t be a life-altering mistake.

A safe choice, albeit temporary, but one I desperately need to make to save myself from the heart demanding a quick exit from Chad to flee to Easton.

Don’t you dare abandon me now, you worthless muscle!

“He’s staring at you like—”

“We’re friends.” Even as I draw my own battle lines, the words still feel like a filthy betrayal coming from my lips.

“It’s clear he thinks differently by the way he’s looking at you.” My attention flits briefly back to Easton as static fires between us before his gaze drifts to Chad, who turns back to me with a quizzical look. “How do you know him?”

“Work, w-we were working, we worked together, temporarily—I’m in media,” I answer, unable to rip my eyes away from Easton when the dark-haired goddess rejoins him, offering him a water. From the way she situates herself against him on the couch, it’s clear they have history. Maybe they’re going to make more tonight. The thought has my stomach turning as I toss back the remnants of my first and last drink, snapping my eyes away and giving Easton his victory.

I don’t want to play adult games with a childish heart. I’m unsure which one of us is acting more like the child at this point. I just want to take what’s left of me, go home, and nurse it back to health.

I’m fucking out.

Done.

Imagining him in this life will make it so much easier for me to let go. If this is truly his world, there’s no way I can be any part of it. I’d make myself fucking sick obsessing over this very scenario nightly. Even if our parents’ history weren’t a barrier, there’s no way this could ever work.

“Natalie, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not, Chad,” I speak up, refusing to look back in Easton’s direction as I feel the sting start in the back of my eyes and will it away. “Can you please walk me out?”

Chad nods, discarding his haul on the bar before gently gripping my arm above my elbow and guiding me through the sea of warm bodies. As the music switches, my anger morphs to hurt.

Did he mean a single fucking word he said to me in the past few days?

Is this some sort of payback for leaving him in Seattle and not answering his calls?

Chad ushers me toward the stairs, his hand on the small of my back as I walk away with purpose, thankful I came and saw what I needed to in order to let the fantasy go. I exhale heavily and let resignation sink in. The second Chad and I make it to the landing at the top of the stairs, I feel the shift in the air before warm, calloused fingers grip my shoulder. My scalp prickles as I glance back to find Easton glaring between us both.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Easton hisses, his eyes raking me in a possessive sweep.

“Pretty rude, man,” Chad interjects, winning points with me.

Easton’s gaze darts to him. “And you are?”

“Chad, this is Easton Crowne. Easton, Chad. Chad was just escorting me out.” Catcalls sound from feet away as I motion over Easton’s shoulder. “Thanks for the invite. Great show tonight, I mean that. It was exceptional. I wish you every success and . . . enjoy your orgy.” Hating the jealous edge to my voice, I stand firm and turn again as Easton grips my wrist, his gaze locked with mine.

“Nice to fucking meet you, Chad,” Easton clips. “Read the fucking situation and take the hint.” Chad eyes Easton’s hand on my wrist. “I’m asking nicely.”

“Natalie,” Chad reasons, shaking his head. “I’ve obviously stumbled into something.”

“No,” I speak up clearly. “No, you really haven’t,” I place a placating hand on Easton’s chest just as he tightens his hold on my wrist. I may as well have tossed jet fuel on the fire. “You go on. I’ll find you downstairs before I leave.”

Chad frowns. “Sure?”

“No, she fucking won’t,” Easton snaps, “so make peace with it now and move the fuck on. I’m done asking nicely.”

Chad looks at Easton with a ‘you’re a dick’ expression before he leans in.

“Nice to meet you, Natalie.” Chad concedes, pulling out of the ring because he’s no idiot, and the air around Easton has turned deadly.

“You too,” I sigh as Chad glances between us once more before starting down the stairs. Easton’s eyes rake down my dress as I spot the stunner who was catering to him standing at the edge of a nearby couch, her eyes darting curiously between the two of us.

“Uh, I think that woman needs you . . . or something.”

“I’m not with her,” he says bluntly.

“Okay. Well, she’s got a different impression.”

“No, she doesn’t,” he pulls me a step back into the room.

“Easton, stop this shit, now , and let me go.”

Ignoring me, he pulls me into him. Panicking, I glance around. “You’re making a scene. People are staring.”

“That’s your hang-up, not mine,” he growls. “We need to talk. We’re talking. Right fucking now.”

“No, we’re good. I came, I saw. I got the T-shirt, thank you for a lovely—fuck!” I shriek as Easton moves like a freight train through the room, bypassing hordes of people toward a heavily guarded hall. He stops and addresses a security guard, and the guard nods, letting Easton pull me past him.

In the next second, I’m being tugged down the corridor before being yanked into and released inside a hotel suite fit for royalty. Glaring at me, Easton slams the door behind him and closes his eyes, fists clenched at his sides.

Averting my gaze from the tall, dark, gorgeous temptation blocking my exit, I sweep the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows on one side, a sunken tub, and an opulent master bath on the other. In the middle of the room, beneath a sea of white-washed glass, sits a massive four-poster bed. It’s posh, pristine, and wildly romantic, but I’m far too pissed off to appreciate it.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?!” I shout as Easton remains standing at the door, seeming to gather himself. He’s angry in a way I’m not familiar with, though I’ve been warned of his temper. He seems to be trying to rein it in now as he stands motionless for several seconds. But when his eyes finally open, it’s all I can do to keep from taking a step back. He’s positively furious.

“Admit it,” he commands in a lethal tone.

“Admit what? That you’re acting like a fucking child? That’s your admission to make.”

“Admit you didn’t want to leave what happened in Seattle any more than I did, and you still don’t.”