Page 122 of Ominous: Part 1

She reaches for a few loose strands of her hair, pushing them behind her ear. I can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit, or just a habit. But she shakes her head, so I grab her wrist, expecting the flinch in her arm, and I’m not disappointed. But I ignore it, yanking her down into my lap.

She comes down clumsily, and I drop the joint into the ashtray at my side, so I can use both arms to wrap around her, tugging her closer as I kiss her forehead. She smiles, the smallest laugh accompanying it, and her arms thread behind my neck. She’s so short, even in this position, her legs over my thighs, underneath the arm of my chair and dangling off, she fits perfectly.

“What do you usually do on the weekends?” she asks as I keep my lips against her forehead, her shoulder pressing beside my sternum.

I look out over the dark sky, and a few seconds later, the welcome patter of rain starts up.

“Wrestling tournaments,” I answer Eden, every word I speak fluttering onto her skin. “Swimming.” I think of the pool. Of going under again and again and again until I feel dizzy. Tomorrow, I’ll show her, and she won’t be scared. Not after today. “Sometimes I help my uncle at his shop with my cousin.”

“You love cars,” she says, satisfied amusement coating her words.

I kiss her again, holding her tighter. “Yeah, I do.” The rain is louder now, and I see it streaking down in the faintest white. Some drops bounce off of the railing from the balcony, and I feel them against my skin. Eden probably does, too, but we don’t complain. “What do you love?” I pull back so I can see her eyes, her arms still around my neck. “What do you do on the weekends?”

“Well,” she says, shrugging, and I already know from the sly smile on her lips she’s going to say something smart. “Like most teenagers who aren’t Trafalgar blessed, I usually work.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t make me toss you off of this balcony.”

She tightens her grip, her chest pressing closer to me. “You wouldn’t.” Her eyes find my mouth. “You’d miss me too much.”

I don’t dispute her words, an echo of the truth I gave her earlier, but I can’t say anything either.

After a moment, she cuts her gaze back to mine. “When I’m not working, I like to drive with the windows down, especially if it’s hot.”

“In your slow baby Sentra?”

“I swear to God, I reallywilltoss you off of this balcony, Eli Addison.”

I smile at my first and last name from her mouth. “It’s okay. We all have to start somewhere.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, in myslow, baby Sentra.”She parrots my comment with false venom. “I like to go for hikes. Sometimes just in the backyard. I like…” She trails off, but then simply shrugs, as if she doesn’t care. “Well… I like occultism.Magic.”

I think of one of the books she had at her table the first night.The Kybalion.“You like magic,” I repeat, savoring the words in my mouth. I think of her reference to the devil’s hour, when Winslet went missing.“Darkmagic.”

She tilts her head, frowning.

I shrug. “I pay attention,” I whisper over her mouth.My little angel, built for sin.

She ignores me, save for the way her lips tip upward. “Mostly, I like to read.” She clears her throat, averting her gaze. “And write.”

I arch a brow, but I’m not surprised.The Elements of Style.The other book she had, beside her Kindle. “And write?” I press, ducking my chin, hoping to catch her eye again.

She stares resolutely at the tops of her thighs. “Yes.”

“Write what?”

“Stories.”

“Eden.”

She must hear the low warning in my voice because she smiles, but she still doesn’t look at me. “I write a lot of things.”

I’m about to tell her that’s a non-answer, but she keeps going, maybe knowing I won’t let her get away with her bullshit.

“Women’s fiction.” She says the words like they taste bad, and I’m not sure why. But after a minute, she just sighs, shaking her head and looking up at me. “I write romance, basically.Romance.”It’s like she expects me to be disgusted or something, but instead, I’m just surprised.

“You?” I slide my hand up from her waist to her wrist, circling her bracelets. “You write romance?”

She ducks her head, trying to pull away from me and swing her legs off as thunder rolls overhead, the awning protecting us from most of the storm, but rain is slanting sideways, flecking more frequently across my face. “Look, it’s not like it’s going to get published. Just, let’s go inside—”