Chapter 4 #2
“Come on, Alice. You didn’t really think you were the only one allowed to do research, did you?”
Her eyes narrow. “Research?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nod toward her camera. “You study people. I study people. Yours just comes with a little strap and college credit.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No?” My smile widens. “You point that thing at strangers when they don’t know what you’re looking for, then take pieces of them home and call it art.”
Her mouth tightens.
Good.
“I read patterns,” I continue. “Where people go. What doors they take. What they reach for when someone gets too close. What they pretend not to care about.” My gaze drops pointedly to her hand still near the camera. “You, for example, are very protective of your work.”
“You’re researching me.”
“Look at that.” I press a hand to my chest. “Pretty and quick.”
“That’s stalking.”
“Stalking sounds desperate.”
“It is.”
“Then it can’t be what I’m doing.”
Her brow lifts. “Because you’re not desperate?”
“Because I’m having fun.”
She studies me like she wants to decide I’m joking and can’t quite manage it. Smart girl. I am joking. I’m also not. That’s where people usually get lost. They want the bad thing to announce itself properly. Stop smiling. Lower its voice. Make the threat easy to point at later.
I prefer plausible deniability.
I pull out the chair across from her and sit. Alice stares at me like I just put my feet on the table and asked for a bedtime story.
“I didn’t invite you,” she says.
“I know.”
“So leave.”
“In a minute.”
Her expression tightens. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
“Good. I hate those.”
She exhales through her nose and glances toward the stairs.
Nobody is coming down. The upper floors are probably full of students pretending to study while refreshing their phones and flirting badly.
Down here, it’s just us, the shelves, the dust covered books, and the dead body diagrams Alice apparently considers a good time.
I take my cigarette pack out of my jacket.
Alice’s brows lift. “You’re not serious.”
“I usually am when fire is involved.”
“You can’t smoke in here.”
I glance around like I’m noticing the shelves for the first time, cigarette balanced between my fingers. “Why not?”
Alice gives me a look. “Because it’s a library.”
“So?”
“So there are books.”
“Old ones.” I lean back in the chair, eyes on hers while I tap the cigarette against the edge of the table without lighting it yet. “Looks like they’ve survived worse.”
Her gaze drops to my hand, then snaps back to my face. “Are you always this committed to being an asshole?”
“Only when I have a pretty audience.”
“Oh, well then lucky me.”
“Very.” I bring the cigarette to my mouth, but don’t light it yet. “Besides, no one’s down here but you and me.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No?” My thumb rolls over the lighter. “You gonna tell on me, Alice?”
Her expression tightens, but she doesn’t look away. “Maybe.”
I smile around the cigarette. “Liar.”
The word lands soft, but the air between us doesn’t. She’s still sitting there with one hand near her camera and the other flat on the old anatomy book, pretending she isn’t tracking every little movement I make.
Smart girl.
I flick the lighter open.
The flame catches, small and bright between us.
Alice’s eyes drop to it.
“There are alarms,” she says.
“Probably.”
“Sprinklers.”
“Sounds a bit dramatic, don't you think?”
“You’ll get us kicked out.”
“Us?” My smile spreads before I can stop it. “Careful, Alice. That sounded dangerously close to couple behavior.”
“It sounded like I’m trapped in a basement full of old-ass books that could go up from one spark, with an idiot holding fire.”
“Right.” I lift the lighter a little, watching the flame flicker between us. “Romantic lighting. Privacy. Shared danger.” My grin gets worse. “You’re really selling the intimacy here, pretty little witness.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m selling arson charges.”
“Foreplay has gotten weirder, I’ll give you that.”
Her mouth presses flat, but there’s a spark in her eyes now. Annoyed. Feisty. Still sitting there.
I like that part best.
I hold the flame under the cigarette and take my time lighting it, mostly because Alice keeps watching my hands like she’s deciding whether to snatch it away or stab me with one of her little photography tools.
Honestly, either option would improve my night.
I take the first drag and lean back, letting the smoke sit between us. “You’re very tense for someone who hasn’t yelled for help.”
Her eyes narrow. “Maybe I’m saving my energy.”
“For what?”
“Dealing with you.”
Well fuck me. I like that.
A laugh slips out before I can stop it, and Alice looks pleased with herself for half a second before she buries it. Too late. I saw it. I like her better when she’s rude. Sweet girls are boring. Too polished and easy.
Alice leans across the table before I can take another drag and plucks the cigarette straight from my mouth.
Well.
Would you look at that.
The little basement ghost has teeth.
And apparently sticky fingers.
I didn’t see that coming, which is fucking rude, because I like seeing everything coming.
She brings it to her own lips, eyes on mine the whole time, and takes one slow pull like she’s done it before.
Smoke slips from her mouth when she exhales, soft and lazy in the stale basement air.
Then she reaches over, drops the cigarette into a little ceramic dish full of paper clips, and crushes it out.
Problem solved, apparently.
I stare at the dish, then back at her.
Alice lifts her brows. “What?”
My tongue presses against the inside of my cheek. “That was rude.”
“You were smoking in a goddamn library.”
“You put your mouth on my cigarette.”
“To put it out.”
“Sure.” I smile, slow and amused, because now the night is absolutely worth my time. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Her expression flattens. “What secret?”
“That you didn’t yell for help.” My gaze drops to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “And that you wanted a taste first.”
Her expression stays flat, but there’s a little color in her cheeks now. Enough to be entertaining.
“You’re disgusting,” she says.
“Frequently.”
“And arrogant.”
“Constantly.”
“And you need to leave.”
“Eventually.”
“What do you want, Johnny?” she asks, and this time her tone has less bite and more warning.
“I wanted to see what my brother was losing his mind over.”
Her face does this small, satisfying thing. Not enough for most people to catch. Enough for me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.
“Sure you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Pretty girl, Jagger has the subtlety of a brick through a windshield when he’s pretending not to care.”
A laugh slips out before she can stop it, and then she looks mad about it, which only makes the whole thing better.
I point at her. “See? You know.”
“I know he’s intense.”
“Intense.” I make a face. “That’s awfully polite.”
“What would you call him?”
“Emotionally constipated with violent tendencies and terrible communication skills.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“I’ve had twenty-three years to study the subject.”
Her fingers relax slightly around the camera strap, but her eyes stay sharp. “And you came down here to what exactly? Warn me?”
“No.”
“Oh good, cause I wasn’t going to listen, or thank you.”
“I came down here because you got his attention, and that means you got mine.” I lean forward a little, keeping my smile easy because easy makes people nervous when they know better. “Congratulations, Alice. Terrible prize, but it’s yours now.”
She stares at me for a second, and for the first time tonight, the attitude slips enough for me to see the caution underneath. Not fear. Alice doesn’t scare the easy way. She measures first. Decides if the danger is worth standing near.
That must drive Jagger fucking insane.
It’s starting to do something irritating to me too.
“I don’t give a shit about whatever brother rivalry I accidentally stepped into,” she says.
“Accidentally?”
“Yes.”
“You walked into an illegal fight with a camera and pointed it at the worst man in the room.”
“He was not the worst man in the room.”
Oh.
Oh, that is fucking cute.
I grin, slow and mean, because she doesn’t even realize what she just handed me.
“Careful.”
Her eyes narrow. “What?”
I lean back in the chair, all comfortable now, like she didn’t just make my whole night better by accident. “That almost sounded like you noticed me.”
“I didn’t.”
“No? Because you said Jagger wasn’t the worst man in the room.”
“I was correcting you.”
“You were correcting me because you know better.” My smile widens as I let my eyes drag over her face, just slow enough to make her annoyed about it. “And what you know, Alice, is that if I’m in the room, Jagger can’t be the worst thing in it.”
Her mouth flattens. “You’re really proud of that, aren’t you?”
“Deeply.” I press a hand to my chest. “It’s important to have goals.”
“Your goal is being awful?”
“My goal is excellence.” I tilt my head. “The awful is just natural talent.”
She stares at me for a beat, unimpressed as hell, but there’s something trying to pull at the corner of her mouth.
There she goes.
Trying not to like me.
How embarrassing for both of us.
“You need therapy,” she says.
“Probably. But this is cheaper, and I get to bother you at the same time, so really, everybody wins.”
“Nobody is winning here.”
“I am.”
“You think standing in a basement harassing me is winning?”
“Pretty girl, I got you to admit my brother wasn’t the most dangerous man in the room without even asking.” I lean forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping just enough to make it land. “That’s not harassment. That’s character development.”
Her fingers tighten around the camera strap. “You’re insane.”
“A little.” I smile. “But you noticed.”
“I noticed you’re annoying.”
“Still counts.”
Alice looks away first, and fuck, that’s cute too. Not soft and sweet. More like watching someone touch a hot stove and get mad at the stove for doing its job.
I shouldn’t like it.
Unfortunately, I’ve never been known for making choices that keep people alive.