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"THERE'S A PATCH OF ICE SHIMMERING UNDER THE SKY," Jeff Rosenstock sang on a Monday night in December, low and lively, letting the words chase each other through Trans-Pecos. "On the south corner of Bushwick, on the residential side."
A hand reached for hers.
"And I'm afraid I'll slip."
Their fingers laced together.
"Most days when it's cloudy, and all nights I stay inside." A ripple of excitement coursed through the crowd of adults, belting out the lyrics with the fervor of a cult following. "But it's 2:30 on New Years' Day and outside, it's looking bright."
A haze of blue-purple light shrouded them into the soft sensation of punk music and everything New York could offer in the makeshift, living-room, DIY performance space in Ridgewood.
Intimacy. Privacy. Adventure.
Thrill.
That's what it was all about. In the beginning.
Before this.
"Vegas just showed up," he said, his lips grazing her ear with a faint laugh. "They'll all show, Star."
A satisfied smile curled at her lips. Yeah, in the beginning, there was a part of her that believed he was bluffing, lying, fucking with her. But there was also a part of her that knew he was unpredictable, a force to be reckoned with, and one hell of a person to clash with.
Nothing like the crystallized color of his eyes, nothing clear and clean, nothing pure or... perfect.
Blue wasn't trustworthy.
"Now they hold each other tight," the crowd crooned the last few words with a new feeling, a tenderness that took her breath away. "And stay in on winter nights..."
Each of them had their weaknesses, but Blue's flaws were fatal. It wasn't suspicion or impatience or detachment; it was deadlier, a mess of lies—strung together with that cool confidence that never thawed. If it wasn't so fucking infuriating, it would be sexy as hell.
A flick of her hair. A fleeting glance over her shoulder. A fierce collision with those charcoal eyes.
Vegas.
They'd exchanged only a handful of words, but that one look was enough to leave her blood sizzling with temptation.
A grin tugged at her lips, his brows rose, her pulse spiked.
There was an unspoken dialogue, an unwritten language, an undiscovered conversation in those three little motions. It was always the little things. They didn't really need words.
Because in the end, they needed action.
Maybe Vegas understood.
When he passed them, heading toward the bar without hesitation, Blue chuckled in amusement. A trace of a taunt caressed her ear. "What's wrong, Star?"
Her eyes fluttered closed. Fuck him.
"Nothing."
"Mmm."
An arm roped around her waist, and as Blue tugged her into his chest, hips subtly grinding into her from behind, a soft sound of surprise left her lips. "Oh..."
"How much time do you think we have before the rest show up?" he murmured beneath the music, hands sliding down, down, down at a teasing pace.
"Enough."
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Mystery / Thriller"Some people want to destroy beautiful things," he said slowly, "but some people just want to steal them." ☆ [completed FIRST draft] a holiday heist in which eight strangers attempt to steal...
