CHAPTER FIVE ╱ I See Red

            There's no excuse for blatant neglect, so I will not make an attempt. If it were her, I would've drawn the curtains. I would've climbed back into bed, dangled above her on all fours, whisked the loose, ashen hairs sticking to her cheeks, and tickled the edge of her jaw with my newfound stubble. Would've burned her skin with the jagged quills. Would've buried my face into the crook of her cherry-scented neck.

Would've stayed a while.

Instead, I just left. Scrawled a practically unintelligible note and raced for the door with my buckle still loose.

I should've called Lucy back, but I was embarrassed. I shouldn't have been, but damnit I was and I couldn't help it. It didn't stop my carnal ability from launching myself back into bed with the woman with miles for legs. Crisp, caramel sweetness. Delectable and enticing. It's what I needed, but not what I necessarily wanted. I sound like a complete asshole and it's because I am.

Stupidly, I'd never get what I wanted. Not if that want is Lucienne Evans. She was mine in the way all young boys and girls are meant to be. As friends and nothing more. I thought an "at first" came after that for a long while. It doesn't.

Or maybe it does considering her reaction last night? Maybe I'm a lovestruck idiot with a yearning the length my muscles could be spun around the earth.

She acted light-hearted initially and then all of a sudden a look crossed her features that I couldn't quite make sense of, and the next thing I knew I was staring at my home screen.

I didn't text her and ask why she hung up, didn't make any effort to call her back. Instead, I climbed back beneath the expensive, Egyptian bedding and blocked Lucy out entirely for the first time in my entire twenty-five years of life.

            It's a shame I am more worried about a woman who doesn't want me, than worried about a woman who seems to.

Now, I am practically sprinting out of the airport with a duffel tossed over my shoulder. I didn't want to face Autumn, but I left my number at her disposal. A part of me hoped she'd call, while the other part of me hoped she'd forget all about me. She deserved better, something I couldn't promise her.

            When I hopped onto the aircraft, I ignored Atticus' shit-eating grin, slid into my seat, and mounted my headseat onto the crown of my head, my focus newly affixed on the clouds and nothing else.

            It was nearing nightfall by the time I landed back in Graceland. I sent a quick text to my mother letting her know we'd landed safely and booked it straight to Badlands.

A mirage of smoke and dust crowded the space that I idled my engine. Tearing my keys from the ignition, I leap from the driver's seat and edge toward the entrance. A few locals are perched against the wooden siding, cigarettes between their lips, the scent of yeast radiating off of their yapping tongues.

I bob my head in polite welcome before barging into the place. As soon as the sole of my shoes touch the vinyl tile, I realize I've tucked my tail between two very unstable legs.

I gulp back my uneasiness. I carry my blue gaze over toward the bar, where Lucy's normally lingering and find her presence absent. I meander through the gathering crowd, malt and lime a steady aroma. Veering toward The Lounge, a relatively small room tucked into the corner of the main occupancy, I peruse through the group of people arranged on the set of leather sofas tucked against the wall, and find Lucy missing from there as well. I depart with a polite smile to the few patrons.

            I set my sights on the kitchen next. I squeeze through the crowd, mumbling excuse me's as I go, until I'm pushing against the silver doors that lead to the Chef's Quarters.

            Still no sign of Lucy. However, as soon as I walk  in, Rip—one of her line cooks—gestures over his shoulder in the direction of one of the few back exits.

            "Appreciate it, Rip." I murmur as I pass him by, my palm leveling with his shoulder to clap him on the tense blades there as a show of gratitude. He issues me a somewhat amiable grunt.

            I curl my fingers around the handle and give it a brisk pull. The melodies of eventide mask the sounds emanating from the bar.

There's a creek that drifts along the edge of Badlands property lines. Just along the creek line is where I find Lucy lingering.

            Her back is to me. Fitted in all leather, a cherry aroma wafting and all-consuming her midst. I'm reminded by her in a way that a deer is reminded of humanity. Crossing the street, traveling from one stretch of forest to the other. The flicker of headlights. Metal pressed against bone.

            "It's nice out tonight," her voice slices straight through me.

            "I thought so, too." is my taut reply.

            The air feels different. And not in a good way. I have to fix it. I can't choke on indifference.

            She turns her head slightly, peering back at me over her shoulder. The ends of her lips tilt. It's soft, the look she gives me. For some reason, I'd hoped it'd be mean. I can handle mean. Whatever is churning behind those bright eyes right now, I can't manage.

            "I'm sorry for not calling you back," I begin. I edge toward her, both cautious and hopeful. She remains still, but watches me as I close the distance between us. I glance ahead, shoulder to shoulder. "It was shitty."

"It's okay," Her shoulder grazes mine. "You were pretty busy. I should be the one apologizing for the intrusion."

I look over at her, expecting a side view, but I find that she is staring directly at me. Her burgundy-stained lips bear a little smile. I am back to seeing red.

            I mirror her expression. After a beat passes, I turn away, my brows slouching only slightly. I empty my throat, eyes coasting out toward the nightly grain, "Was there a reason for calling? Was everything alright?"

            In my peripheral, I notice her little motions. The adjustment of her sparsely chopped bangs. The casual toss of her hair over the brim of her shoulder. Fiddling mindlessly with the frayed edges of her denim shorts. She's uncomfortable. With my presence. It's a shot to the heart, a sting to my ever-flowing veins.

            "Everything was fine," she murmurs. "Just wanted to talk to you. Not about anything in particular, just . . . a nightly chat, or something . . . or whatever."

            A chuckle escapes from the depths of my chest. This draws her eyes, but mine remain pointed elsewhere. "Or whatever." I parrot.

            She bumps her shoulder against mine, "We're okay, right?"

            I furrow my brows, a look of disbelief surely crossing my features. "I could ask you the same thing."

            She bites back a grin. Her rosy cheeks gleam against the light of the moon, "Why wouldn't we be?"

            "Plenty of reasons, I suppose." I issue with a shrug, my eyes flitting between her and the creek.

            "Plenty, huh?"

            She pins me with a look and a menacing grin. I shove my hands the denim caves attached to the front of my jeans, a grin of my own emerging onto my slightly chapped lips. "Of course we're okay."

             "Good."

            "Good."

            We both hang in the air with a more relaxed silence descending between us. Lucy tucks her hands into the back pockets of her shorts, while I choose to fold my arms across my chest. Shit-eating grins line our lips.

            "Remember a few days ago, when I called you scrawny?" she asks out of the blue, the rushing crook of the creek easing the ache in my bones.

"Mhm." I hum in response.

"I take it back." she whispers, before pivoting on her heel and ambling back inside without a backwards glance, leaving me in perplexed daze.

She's always had a knack for that.

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