I watch as Josh slides his arm around Haven's waist, cupping his fingers and pulling her closer. But no matter how hard he tries, it's no use. Despite the fact that they're perfect together, she's focused on Roman —mirroring the way he stands, the way he tilts his head back when he laughs, the way he holds his hands —all of her energy flowing straight toward him as though Josh doesn't exist. But even though it seems mostly one-sided, unfortunately Roman's the type who'd be more than willing to take her out for a test drive.
I turn back to Miles and force a casual shrug.
"There's a cast party at Heather's," Miles says.
"We're all headed there soon. You guys coming?"
I give him a blank look. I don't even know who that is.
"She played Penny Pingleton?"
I don't know who that is either, but I know better than to admit it, so I nod like I do.
"Don't tell me you guys were macking so much you missed the whole show!" He shakes his head in a way that makes it clear he's only partly joking.
"Don't be ridiculous, I saw the whole tiling!" I say, my face flushing a thousand shades of red and knowing he'll never believe me even though it's more or less true. Because even though we were behaving ourselves and not at all macking, it was almost like our hands we're macking —with the way Damen entwined his fingers with mine —and like our thoughts were mucking —with the telepathic messages we sent back and forth. Because even though my eyes were watching the whole entire time —my mind was elsewhere, already occupying our room at the Montage.
"So you coming or not?" Miles asks, his mind correctly guessing not, and not nearly as upset as I thought he might be. "So, where you two headed, anyway? What could be more exciting than partying with the cast and crew?"
And when I look at him, I'm so tempted to tell him, to share my big secret with someone I know I can trust.
But just as I've convinced myself to spill it, Roman walks up with Josh and Haven in tow.
"We're heading over, anybody need a ride? It's only a two-seater, but there's room for one more." Roman nods at me, his gaze pushing, probing, even after I turn away.
Miles shakes his head. "I'm grabbing a ride with Holt, and Ever better-dealed me. Some top-secret plan she refuses to spill."
Roman smiles, his lips lifting at the corners as his eyes graze over my body. And even though, technically speaking, his thoughts could probably be considered more flattering than crude, the fact that they're coming from him is enough to give me the creeps. I avert my gaze, glancing toward the door, knowing Damen should've been here by now. And I'm just about to send him a telepathic message, telling him to step it up and meet me inside, when I'm interrupted by the sound of Roman's voice saying, "Must've kept it secret from Damen too, then. He already left." I turn, my eyes meeting his, feeling that undeniable ping in my gut as a chill blankets my skin. "He didn't leave," I say, not even trying to clear the edge from my voice. "He just went to pull the car around back." But Roman just shrugs, his gaze filled with pity when he says, "Whatever you say. I just thought you should know that just now, when I stepped out for a smoke, I saw Damen pulling out of the parking lot and speeding away."
CHAPTER 12
I burst through the door and into the alley, gazing around the narrow empty space as my eyes adjust to the darkness, making out a row of overflowing Dumpsters, a trail of broken glass, a hungry stray cat —but no Damen.
I stumble forward, my eyes searching relentlessly as my heart beats so fast I fear it might break free from my chest. Refusing to believe he's not here. Refusing to believe that he ditched me. Roman's awful! He's lying! Damen would never just up and leave me like this.
Trailing my fingers along the brick wall for guidance, I close my eyes and try to tune in to his energy, calling him to me in a telepathic message of love, need, and worry, but getting only a solid black void in response. Then I slalom through cars all heading for the exit, cell phone pressed to my ear while I peer into windows, leaving a series of messages on his voice mail.
Even when my right, heel breaks off my sandal, I just toss them aside and keep going. I don't care about my shoes. I can make a hundred more pairs.
But I can't make another Damen.
And as the lot slowly empties, with still no sign of him, I crumble to the curb, feeling sweaty, exhausted, deflated Watching the cuts and blisters on my feet simultaneously mend, and wishing I could close my eyes and access his mind —get a read on his thoughts, if not his whereabouts.
But the truth is, I've never been able to get inside his head. It's one of the things I liked best about him. His being so psychically off limits made me feel normal.
And wouldn't you know, the one thing that once seemed so appealing is now the very thing that's working against me.
"Need a lift?"
I look up to find Roman standing over me, jangling a set of keys in one hand, my broken sandals in the other.
I shake my head and look away, knowing I'm in no position to refuse a ride, though I'd rather crawl through a trail of hot coals and broken glass than climb inside a two-seater with him.
"C'mon," he says. "I promise not to bite."
I gather my things, tossing my cell into my bag and smoothing my dress as I stand up and say, "I'm good."
"Really?" He smiles, moving so close our toes nearly touch. " 'Cause, to be honest, you're not looking so good."
I turn, making my way toward the exit, not bothering to stop when he says, "What I meant was the situation isn't looking so good. I mean, look at you, Ever. You're disheveled, shoeless, and though I can't be too sure, it appears that your boyfriend has ditched you."
I take a deep breath and keep going, hoping he'll soon tire of this game, tire of me, and move on, "And yet, even in that frenetic, slightly desperate state, I have to admit, you're still smokin' —if you don't mind my saying."
I stop, suddenly turning to face him despite my vow to keep moving. Cringing as his eyes slowly rake over my body, lingering on my legs, my waist, and my chest —with an unmistakable gleam.
"Makes one wonder what Damen's thinking, 'cause if you ask me —"
"No one asked you," I say, feeling my hands starting to shake and reminding myself that I'm completely in charge here, that I've no reason to feel threatened.
That even though I may look like your average defenseless girl on the outside, I'm anything but. I'm stronger than I used to be, so strong that if I really wanted, I could take him down with one swing. I could pick him up off his feet and toss him clear across the parking lot to the other side of the street. And don't think I'm not tempted to prove it.
He smiles, that lazy grin that works on just about everyone but me, his steely blue eyes peering straight into mine with a gaze so knowing, so personal, so amused —my first instinct is to flee.
But I don't.
Because everything about him feels like a challenge, and no way am I letting him win.
"I don't need a ride," I finally say. Turning to pick up the pace and feeling his chill as he trails right behind me. His icy cold breath on the back of my neck when he says, "Ever, please, slow down a minute, would ya?
I didn't mean to upset you."
But I don't slow down. I keep going. Determined to put as much distance between us as I possibly can.
"Come on now." He laughs. "I'm only trying to help.
Your friends have all left, Damen's buggered off, the cleaning crew went home, which makes me your only hope left."