15. Cole
COLE
In theory, Halloween parties are supposed to be fun. Booze, music, hot girls wearing skimpy costumes.
Except it never really lives up to the expectation.
The music is usually trash, the alcohol is cheap, and half the girls are already drunk enough to trip over their own heels.
No idea why I bothered showing up, knowing all that.
Maybe because I needed something to stop my brain from replaying Sophie alone in that house.
When she texted saying Dad showed up and dragged her home from her friend’s place, my fists actually burned with the urge to put a hole in the wall.
That crawling anger’s been lodged in my gut ever since.
She swore he didn’t hit her, that he was just angry, but that did nothing to ease the knot in my chest.
Fuck. I came here to stop thinking about it. To get drunk. To get laid. To get even a minute where my head isn’t chewing itself alive.
I tug the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head, already sick of the skull paint itching at my face.
There was no way in hell I was showing up in an actual costume, so I grabbed the first thing I could find—black face paint—and smeared it on until it sort of looked like a skull.
Took longer than I thought it would, but it works.
I spot Logan off to the side of the room, away from the rest of the guys, stretched out on the couch in fake fangs and a tight black shirt with the top buttons undone, red smeared at the corner of his mouth.
He’s talking to some guy dressed as a pirate, his lips curling into a flirty grin as he leans closer to him.
The rookies have taken over the kitchen, red Solo cups scattered everywhere as they crowd around the counter in the middle of a game of flip cup.
I shove past them, grab the nearest bottle, pour whatever’s in it into a cup, and take a long swallow. It burns going down, but that’s the point. I want the sting. I want anything that’ll cut through Sophie’s voice in my head or—
Her.
I stop cold when I spot a flash of long blonde hair across the room.
Hair I’ve had wrapped around my fist.
The alcohol settles hot in my stomach as my gaze drops down her body. The black dress she’s wearing barely covers her ass, pulled tight over her hips, showing off those long legs in high black heels. Dark wings are strapped to her back, her hair falling over them in soft waves.
Fuck.
Every guy in this place is noticing her, and, fuck me, so am I.
I take another sip of my drink, swallowing it down as I remember the feel of that hair in my fist, my fingers digging into the same hips that dress is currently clinging to. The way she tasted. How she sounded.
She must feel me looking, because her eyes flick over and land on mine. They’re still that same sharp blue, taking me in with that bored expression she wears like armor, before she rips her gaze away.
I tip back my cup, swallow down another sip, and head toward the group.
“Holy shit,” Austin says when I reach the group, his arm slung around Maisie’s shoulders, the two of them dressed as Flynn Rider and Rapunzel. “Ellis actually dressed up.”
I don’t answer. I just take another drink, my eyes sliding to Aurora, who’s doing a pretty convincing job of acting like I’m not standing five feet away.
Ryan—looking like an idiot dressed like Mario—looks me over, taking in the hoodie, the jeans, the skull paint smeared across my face, and lets out a laugh as he shakes his head. “This is the least effort I’ve ever seen anyone put into Halloween.”
“Wasn’t planning on coming.”
Aurora’s gaze finally lands on me, tilting her head, looking at me like I’m something she scraped off the bottom of her heel. “And yet you did. How tragic.”
My jaw ticks, irritation coiling hot in my chest every time she opens her mouth.
“Careful, Viper,” I murmur. “Your fangs are showing again.”
Her eyes narrow, and I catch the flush that creeps up her throat, but she doesn’t bite back at me the way I expect. She just turns and pushes through the crowd instead, those black wings shifting on her back as she heads for the back door.
I tip the rest of my drink back, let it burn all the way down, then set the cup on the nearest surface.
I need a smoke.
I shove through a cluster of drunk idiots and push open the back door, the cold air hitting me in the face right away.
The music is muffled out here, but the backyard’s still full.
A couple of people are off to the side smoking, and a few others are gathered around the fire, roasting marshmallows and talking over each other.
Austin went overboard with the decorations out here too. Fake gravestones are shoved into the grass beside pumpkins, plastic bones are half-buried in the dirt, and those same ugly bats are hanging from the branches with orange string lights thrown up between the trees.
I lean back against a tree and pull out my cigarettes, lighting one up and dragging the first inhale deep into my lungs.
My eyes flick to the circle around the fire pit, watching as Aurora hugs one of the girls, chatting with her.
But then my attention catches on a group of guys in matching orange jumpsuits beside her, all of them staring at her like they’ve never seen a woman before.
Their eyes drag down her legs and linger on her ass.
One of them nudges the guy beside him and jerks his chin in her direction.
My jaw tightens as I let the smoke drift out of my mouth.
I hate the way guys look at her. Hate even more that I can’t seem to stop looking either.
One of the guys says something to her I can’t hear. He shoots her a grin but she just shakes her head. He shrugs it off and takes a pull from his beer.
I flick ash into the grass and bring the cigarette back to my mouth.
She gives the girl one last hug, then turns around, and the second she spots me under the tree, she stops. Her eyes flick to the back door, then back to me, like she’s deciding whether I’m worth the effort.
Turn around, Prescott.
Do us both a favor and go back inside.
But of course she doesn’t. She starts walking straight toward me instead, her heels clicking against the patio before the sound disappears into the grass.
She doesn’t say anything at first. She just reaches up, plucks the cigarette straight from my mouth, and brings it to hers. She takes a long drag, holds it for a second, then exhales slowly, smoke blowing between us.
Her eyes meet mine through it. “You stalking me now, Reaper?”
I arch a brow and let my gaze move down her body before coming back to her face. “Don’t flatter yourself, Viper. I came out here for a smoke. You just happened to be here.”
I pluck the cigarette back from her lips, my thumb brushing the edge of her mouth before I bring it to mine and take a long pull, feeling the smoke burn all the way down my throat.
I let my gaze move over her dark angel costume before I blow the smoke out between us.
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Clothes,” she says dryly.
I scoff under my breath. Such a fucking brat.
“Looks like a belt,” I say, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it out under my boot.
She arches a brow, glancing down as she smooths a hand over the skirt. “Yeah, well, some asshole overpaid for a lap dance so I figured I’d put it to good use.” I scoff, pressing my tongue into my cheek. “Figured it might help me find someone to take home and forget about you.”
Her words piss me off, but I keep my face blank and lift a brow instead. “So you can’t forget about me.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “I didn’t say that,” she fires back.
“Then what are you saying?” My teeth grind. “That you’re gonna fuck one of these guys here?”
She lifts a shoulder and flicks her hair back. “So what if I do? I’m single. I can fuck whoever I want.”
My fists tighten, and I shove my hands into my pockets. “I don’t like games, Aurora.”
She lets out a bitter laugh that digs under my skin. “Are you kidding me?” she says. “You fucked me, practically kicked me out of your room, then dragged some girl onto your lap just to get to me, and now you’re standing here saying you don’t like games?”
“She sat on me,” I say, arching a brow. “I didn’t invite her.”
She scoffs. “Sure.”
Something in me snaps. “Why the fuck do you care?” I shoot back. “We agreed it was a one-time thing. You don’t get to stand here and moan about me being with another girl.”
Her face tightens, a flush creeping up her neck, and Jesus Christ—how does she still look this good when she’s pissed at me?
“I don’t care,” she says stiffly, stepping back, already turning away. Her heels click against the concrete, echoing into the yard.
I should let her go. Should let her walk back inside and save myself from this mess I’ve gotten myself into. There are a dozen girls in that house I could take home tonight. I could pick one and prove to myself this thing with her is nothing.
Instead, I blow out an irritated breath and force the words out. “I sent her home.”
She stops mid-step and turns back slowly, blinking at me as if she’s sure she heard that wrong. “What?”
“After you left, I sent her the fuck home. I didn’t touch her.”
A frown pulls between her brows. “Why not?”
Jesus. Is she really going to make me say it?
I look away, my hand curling tighter at my side before I force myself to look back at her. “Because I didn’t want her.”
She goes still, her gaze locking on mine.
I should stop talking. Should shut the fuck up and stop handing her shit she can use against me.
Instead, I hear myself say, “It seems you’re not out of my system just yet.”
The words burn on the way out. I’d take them back if I could, swallow them down and act like I never said a thing, but it’s too late now.
Her lips part and her eyes widen just enough to make something low in my gut pull tight. “You want me.”
“I want to fuck you,” I correct. “Don’t get it twisted, Prescott. I just want you spread open for me on my bed.”
She lifts her brows and lets out this soft little hum, like she’s actually thinking it over, then starts walking toward me until she’s close enough that her perfume hits me. Sweet. Soft. At complete odds with the way she talks to me.
Her fingers slip under the edge of my hoodie, her palms flattening against my skin, and every muscle in my body locks.
Fuck.
She’s too close. I should shove her off.
Tell her to go back inside and pick one of the dozen idiots in there who’d drop to their knees for her.
But I don’t move. I just stand there and take it, every nerve in my body lit up as her hands slide higher over my ribs, her nails scraping lightly across my stomach, burning her touch into me.
She rises onto her toes, still shorter than me, even in those ridiculous heels, and for a split second, I think she’s about to break her own rule and kiss me.
Instead, she drags her mouth along my jaw, her breath warm against my skin as she whispers, “Beg.”
My brows snap together. Did she just—
“The fuck did you just say?”
Her eyes somehow glitter when she looks up at me. “You heard me.” Her gaze drops to my throat, pauses at the ink there, then climbs back to my mouth. “You want to fuck me again?” she breathes, close enough that I feel every word against my lips. “Then beg for it.”
My hands move before my brain catches up. I grab her by the hips, turn us, and pin her back against the tree hard enough to pull a gasp out of her. I catch her chin between my fingers and tip her face up, leaning in until there’s barely space for either of us to breathe.
“I’m not fucking begging you,” I grind out.
I’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.
She tsks, shaking her head. “Shame,” she says, letting out a sigh.
“After how you fucked me…” Her gaze drops, right to where I’m already hard, before she glances up at me, her lips tugged into a smirk.
“I really thought you’d have the balls.” She sighs dramatically—teasing me, antagonizing me.
“Guess I’ll find someone else who wants it more than you do. ”
She pushes at my chest and steps out from under me, walking away.
A sharp breath punches out of me. I know I should just let her go. Let her flounce off and keep running that bratty mouth, let her think she’s proved whatever point she came out here to prove, let her think she doesn’t affect me.
But I can’t.
She gets under my skin and stays there, turning every argument into this heavy pressure in my chest until I can’t tell if I’m furious with her or just desperate for her. I hate that she knows how to push my buttons. Hate that it works every single time.
I hate her.
But I want her more.
My hand shoots out before I can stop myself. My fingers close around her wrist and yank her back, making her stumble a step toward me and suck in a startled breath.
“Please,” I bite out the word through gritted teeth.
She just stares at me. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Just stands there looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
Christ. This is humiliating.
This girl blew my life to pieces, and yet, here I am, begging for her.
My jaw clenches so hard it aches. “Please,” I grind out again. “Let me fuck you again.”
Her hair blows across her face, hiding part of her expression. And after making me stand here and humiliate myself, she pastes on an annoying smirk that drives me insane.
“I’m not really in the mood to fake an orgasm.”
A low groan drags out of me as I yank her closer. “I swear to God, Aurora.”
Her brows lift. “Oh, now it’s Aurora? Aren’t I Viper to you?”
It should be a warning. Should be enough to knock some sense into me, to remind me exactly who she is and what she cost me when I was inches from everything I’d worked for.
But right now I can’t seem to make myself give a fuck about any of it.
Not when I’m tipping her chin up and looking into those bright blue eyes I’ve spent way too much time trying not to picture rolling back while I fuck her senseless.
“Don’t act like you’re unaffected,” I whisper, leaning in until my lips brush her ear. “You want this too.”
She lets out a soft, infuriating laugh. “You’re delusional.”
I lift a brow. “You’re gripping my shirt, Prescott.”
She looks down, finally realizing the way her fist is tangled in my shirt, tugging me closer to her. Her eyes flick back up to mine and she swallows, that usual confidence of hers slipping.
“We said one time,” she reminds me.
“I know,” I mutter, my grip tightening on her hips. “Stupid fucking idea.”
Her chest is rising too fast for someone who supposedly doesn’t care. She holds my gaze, and I can see her thinking it through, can practically watch her come to the conclusion that she’s going to hate herself in the morning.
And then she pushes up onto her toes until her mouth is almost on mine.
“Fine,” she whispers. “Prove you still know how to fuck me.”