And then, she laughs.
A beautifully melodic sound of amusement that bubbles from her lips.
As she bares her sharp teeth, the corners of her pink lips quirk on either side of her flushed cheeks.
The usual dark forest in her eyes brightens with warmth...
Recap: If you don't remember what happened last chapter, I do suggest you skim through it because it was mostly dialogue between Leah and Nathan. Briefly, they were trapped together because Eva had locked them both in there.
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Leah Parker
I scooted onto the worn leather of the stool, drumming my fingers against the shabby bar as Lilly slid into the seat next to me.
Cora and Mya sit a few spaces away from us, getting their drinks served by the bartender and Nathan and Max sit on a nearby table, also waiting for their drinks.
Max had said that we all needed 'Cheering up' although we're all perfectly fine. Maybe he had thought that we still hadn't recovered from Myles' death.
Myles wasn't necessarily a close friend but moving on from someone's death so quickly bubbles a pit of guilt in my stomach.
And Freya.
I only now realise how fast Nathan had moved on from his little sister's death.
If Scarlett died, I could never recover.
It's probably because he's a heartless bitch. I've barely seen him display any sorrowful emotion. It was just the energy surrounding him that said I'm not okay.
"Hey, babes!" The bartender drifts over to us with her lively tone. Her faded pink hair frames her flushed and wrinkled face. Her lips tilt in a contagious smile whilst she hands us a scruffy menu.
Lilly scans her eyes over the laminated sheet, "I'll take a margarita."
I lean over Lilly, taking a glance at the menu, "And I'll have a martini."
All of our drinks are on Max's tab although, by the end of the night, I guarantee that Max will be begging Nathan to pay off all the drinks.
I mean, it's not like it affects Nathan - he's probably a millionaire. I mean with that ego, I'm ninety-nine point nine percent right.
The other one percent is the clothes he wears: incredibly mundane but his t-shirt and jeans could cost more than my entire life.
Whilst Lilly has gone off somewhere, I'm swirling my cocktail pick around my martini with Nathan fucking Cole on my mind.
I'd wrap my hand around that little fucking throat of yours and then you won't be able to talk or laugh with your petty fucking voice.
The burn of his hand still lingers on my throat, his thumb pressing against my demanding pulse. Soft and smooth skin but a cold and rough touch. The way his breath danced over my face and how he had me immobilised by one single touch.
I should've yanked his hand off my throat but with his strength, I'm unmatched.
But, I feel like that's an excuse for why I didn't want to take Nathan's hand off my throat. Perhaps it was arousing.
