Chapter |6| Running From Heaven

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E M E R Y ' S P. O. V

I'm at the club again. The fifth consecutive Saturday in a row.

What the fuck is my life?

I was never a party girl. I never looked forward to dressing up, shoving my feet in heels, primping every inch of my body even though nothing will ever happen between us.

Now I find myself counting down the days, then the hours, then the minutes...now this is  really sad but I have a clock on my phone that's counting down the seconds until it hits ten.

Even at an hour I would consider late, the place is packed. People struggle to push past the hoards, desperately seeking a drink to inebriate themselves and forget their regular boring lives.

Like me.

I down my blue lagoon and gesture for another. The bartender, Matt, who I've become mildly acquainted with over these past few weeks, fights the urge to roll his eyes are passes me the drink.

Kai must have told him my drinks are on the house because he hasn't shaken me down for any payments yet. I'm not complaining about the free alcohol, especially since my boss cut my pay check down. Again.

God. It's 10:03.

I should just pack up and go home. You've lived dangerously for a while Emery. Meeting a guy you still barely know in a sinful club every Saturday. That's enough excitement for a lifetime.

Expect, Kai has me hooked. I've always been an adrenaline junkie, but I managed to tame my compulsions and now, meeting with this handsome stranger at night, fuels all that desire into something of urgency.

And Kai is my fix. He's made it so I'm dependent on him. I wonder if we're the same in that way. That we both crave one another with undeniable ferocity.

"I've always been curious to ask a redhead,"

Elbows plank themselves besides me, and I follow them up to find him. There's that familiar twinkle of mischief in his eyes that I can't ever seem to escape.

"Ask them what?" So we're playing the game.

It's quickly become my favourite game. We both pretend to be strangers, flirting in a random club like we've never met before.

He leans in impossibly closer. I can taste the fresh mint on his breath and for a moment he lingers quiet. Then his hand reaches up to push back my thick red hair.

"Does the carpet match the drapes?" I choke on a laugh, snorting so unattractively that my cheeks flame.

I try to desperately grab a napkin to wipe the glob of salvia that dropped down my chin but in the chaos of it all, knock over my drink.

"Fuck." Matt notices and waves me off as I attempt to clean it up with my one screwed up napkin.

"Jesus, I wonder what you would do if I told you exactly how I would like to fuck you." This statement doesn't faze me as much because it's all hypothetical.

Right?

And as a woman, I have this dying urge to know his response.

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