Page 62 of Crashing Tides

“‘Cause Duncan says I should hide that symbol on me in case people are hunting me,” I say, fishing my flask from my pocket. Jane snatches it from me, takes a gulp of tequila, gags. “He made me promise not to do my own stick and poke tattoo.” I sulk.

“Ew,” says Jane, returning my flask. It’s substantially lighter than it was a few minutes ago. “Why do you sound disappointed?”

“You never wanted to stab yourself repeatedly?”

She sighs, rolls her eyes, and produces a ballpoint pen. When she uncaps it, the lid goes flying. “Oops.”

And that’s how I end up with a terrible ballpoint rendition of the symbol on my hip.

“Why are you so muscle-y?” she complains, dragging the tip of the pen over my skin. Admittedly, we’re drunk and it’s kind of a bumpy area.

“I work hard for these,” I say, offended.

“Yeah, but why?”

“I can’t stop now,” I insist. “I worked way too hard for these abs. I have to maintain them.”

“Is this because your ex told you that you were fat?” The tip of the pen presses into my skin. It tickles.

“I told you that in confidence! And I was, kind of. I definitely had a little roll.” I squirm.

“OK, well, I stalked him online and I saw the pictures of you. If you had a roll, it was microscopic. You don’t need to be this insecure,” she slurs, poking me in the stomach.

“Jane, I’m way too drunk for therapy.”

“Well, fuck you, too.”

“You would be a great bartender.”

“They won’t let me drink on the job,” she grumbles. “Now hold still so I can finish this.”

It turns out that Jane can’t draw, but I shamble my way back to my dorm feeling safe as fuck, because my best friend loved me enough to try, anyway.

Chapter

Eighteen

I’m at the edge of the cliff, right where the ruin used to be, staring down into the water. Duncan stands at my side. Wind batters against us, slapping at our backs like it wants to push us over the ledge and into the water.

“There’s something down there,” I tell him.

He gives one of his tight-lipped nods and says, “Wanna find out?”

Then his hand is in mine, warm even though it’s raining. The sensation gives me shivers. I am abruptly extremely aware of his body next to mine, firm beneath all the layers he’s wearing.

I really, really want to explore that more.

“Yeah,” I say. “But first I want to ask you a weird question.”

He turns to me. Runs a hand along the line of my jaw, collecting the raindrops that have gathered there. Then he draws back, meets my eye, and sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth.

Heat floods my lower belly. Did he just do that? Is it weird or hot?

It’s both. Definitely both. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t break eye contact. I make a strangled little noise.

“Sure,” he says, and raises his eyebrows, like he’s waiting.