Page 23 of The Fire We Make

Ace grinned, pleased with having gotten a rise out of her and her eyes back on him.

At the sight of his grin, one began blooming on her red painted lips, though she tried to stop it. Ace’s chest bloomed with pride at having gotten even the smallest smile out of her.

He’d take it.

“You’re going to hell,” she said. “Suicide is serious, you shouldn’t make light of it.”

Ace chuckled under his breath. He was surely going to hell for so many reasons, this offense however, was probably too low on his rap sheet to even be considered.

“You’re right about that but, I wasn’t joking.”

She gave him a curious look, but didn’t ask him to elaborate.

She fished through her small purse and produced a rolled blunt. “Do you have a light?” she asked. Ace took it as the truce she wouldn’t voice but meant it to be.

Wordlessly Ace pulled his zippo out of his pocket and took a few steps towards her. As soon as he entered her space, he was hit with her fragrance. The sweet and tart scent of cherries and vanilla filled his nose and was so intoxicating he almost swayed on his feet.

He waited a moment for the flinch. The hesitance. The shrinking away that usually came when he got too close to people. The deep seated animal, instincts that made people instinctively cower from him.

It never came though. She stood firm, unbothered, as he approached.

Can you not spot a predator? He wondered. Or are you one yourself?

He flipped the top of the lighter open to reveal the flame then brought it closer to her.

With the blunt between her plump lips, she leaned forward. Ace shielded the flame from the wind and she held his eyes as he ignited the tip of it for her, then pulled back once it was lit.

She closed her eyes and took a long pull then exhaled, her eyes still closed.

Ace took that moment to study her. She was even more beautiful up close. Even under insufficient lighting, her skin glowed under the moon.

Once he’d looked his fill, he opened his mouth to speak again, wanting her attention back on him, but she beat him to the punch.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

Ace’s brow rose but he didn’t speak.

“I…I had a bad night and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that.” She offered a smile, one that barely reached her shadowed eyes, then turned away. Ace couldn’t move or look away.

Ace could see clearly, this wasn’t an apology, it was damage control. It was her fixing the narrative after deviating from the script.

Her entire aura shifted, constricting into something small and rigid. The sight and feel of it put a sour taste in Ace’s mouth.

“You don’t have to put on a show for me,” Ace said.

The woman tilted her head to the right slightly. “What makes you think that’s what I’m doing?” she asked.

“That fake ass smile for one.”

The way her eyes flicked away from him then returned let him know he was right. Her smile was soft and pleasant but her eyes didn’t get the memo. It might work on others but Ace could tell it was phony as fuck.

“You can drop it, love. I don’t need it.”

She hesitated a moment but eventually let her face relax, her whole body sagging in relief as she let the facade drop. The pain, attitude, and beautiful anger seeped back in, and maybe it made Ace fucked up but he preferred her that way. He preferred the real.

“Much better,” he smiled. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Which one, Sherlock Holmes?”