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Fuck it, am I seeing things? My alcohol hallucinations normally don’t involve pretty, wide-eyed girls who glare at me, then vanish in smoke.
This is new, and well, sort of exciting. Because it’s new, idiot, I tell myself, but that’s not all. That girl… She reminds me of someone, and it exerts a strange pull on me, like an old, half-faded memory I need to chase after.
So I do, pushing the insistent blonde’s hands off me, ignoring her whiny voice asking me what’s wrong and where I’m going, and start after a certain dark-haired sliver of a dream.
Seth puts a hand on my arm and says something as I pass him by, but his words get lost in the music blasting from the stereo. Another familiar face appears before me—Dylan, my mind informs me, friend of Zane’s—and I sidestep him, so intent on my hazy mission that I almost plow into another blonde.
“Jesse, have a drink with me?” She gives me a hopeful look, and damn, it’s the girl who went down on me in the bathroom. I remember her pouring tequila on my cock and sucking it like she was dying of thirst.
Sadly, that’s all I recall—not her name, or anything else about her.
“Sorry, gotta go.” I send a strained smile her way and brush by. She grabs me from behind, snagging the hem of my T-shirt, and I curse out loud, twisting to shake her off. She’s strong, holding on tight, and I wonder what she thinks will happen if she doesn’t let go, and how much drunker she is than me—when luckily for me someone stumbles into us, and she is forced to let go.
Freedom.
Knocking into the mass of blurry people who are dancing and shifting around the room, I hurry away, not sure where I’m heading. Why the fuck am I going after the brunette anyway? Can’t remember.
The room goes kinda fuzzy and I blink my eyes to clear them. Whoa. Tequila shots sure hit hard, especially on an empty stomach. Maybe I should head to the kitchen instead, see if I can scrounge up something. I could’ve bet I saw tortilla chips and dips at some point, before I got distracted by the chicks of the party.
Chicks.
The brunette.
Where did she go? And why the hell am I still looking for her? My stomach roils dangerously. Dammit, I need some fresh air.
It was the look on her face, I think fuzzily as I stagger toward the main door that seems half open. When the blonde and I had laughed at the image of my dick decorated with cherries, the girl got a look of panic on her fine features. Her eyes had gone wide with fear.
Why would laughter scare her? Ah, a riddle. A question I want an answer to. A game.
I know all about games. I snort to myself as I push the door open and stumble outside, onto the staircase landing. And that feeling of déjà vu lingers, like an itch under my skin.
Especially when I see her there, with her back to me, leaning beside a narrow window. The night outside is lit up with neon from the huge sign atop a bar next door, and it turns her face a ghostly blue. Her eyes flick to me as the noise from the party spills out, and she frowns.
God, she’s damn pretty with her dark hair and pale skin, wide blue eyes and soft lips—and man, those curves… The girl has curves to die for.
I pull the door closed behind me, pause for a moment, and then walk over to her. She doesn’t looked very pleased to see me. Scratch that, she doesn’t look pleased at all. I fight a wince under the gale of her scowl.
“There you are,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Why did you run away?”
Her lips purse, and damn if it’s not a pretty mouth in an even prettier face. “Run from what?”
“Me.” I waggle my brows at her. “I know I look intimidating,” waggle-waggle, “but I don’t bite, not unless asked.”
She groans. “Christ. If there isn’t anything you want, could you please shut the hell up?”
Ow. She doesn’t mean what she said. Nah. “I want to know your name.”
“It’s Amber.”
See? “Hi, Embers.”
She gives me a look that could freeze hell and repeats the name slowly, dragging every sound out. “It’s Am-ber.”
Guess I deserved that. Score, though. Definitely score. Got under her skin a little there. “It’s just a pet name.”
“I’m not your pet,” she snaps. “I don’t want a pet name. My name is fine, and you can call me that.”
Whoa. “So…” I clear my throat, try to salvage the situation. “Nice party, huh?”
