HE'S AT THE goddamn pool.
He's at the goddamn pool, and there's nothing I can do about it because he's already seen me, and I'd look like a coward if I decided to turn back now.
And to think I'd initially come here to relax—oh, the irony.
Unable to make much progress on the way my envy poem had started to come along, I'd admitted defeat and dragged myself out here after Ruby insisted it would be better if she finished her close reading outline in time to get to bed early.
So here I am. In my baby pink bikini, silver heart clasp holding two tiny triangles of fabric together, and stretchy, red ribbons hitched up my hips. Facing Dane Anderson.
The world really must hate me.
His gaze is critical, sweeping slowly from head to toe to take in the entirety of my body from behind that stupid notebook, ballpoint pen twisting easily through his fingers on the arm of the chaise lounge before he clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "What's the getup for?"
I rush to gain the upper hand in this conversation, letting my mouth twist into a mean smile. "Why? Hoping I dressed up for you?"
"Hardly." The book comes down slightly to show me his unimpressed expression, and I take this time to let my eyes roam over him now. In the faint glow of the lights surrounding the pool, he's wearing board shorts and a short-sleeved button up. It's kind of freaky not to see him in uniform—an alternate reality where he has the potential to be a normal fucking person.
"Like what you see, Cleodora?"
The question makes my heart thud once really hard before I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "Having fun familiarizing yourself with my tits, Doggy?"
His only reaction is the slight tick of his jaw, eyes finding my chest for a moment before he eventually brings his gaze back down to the book. "Not really. I've seen better."
"Doubtful."
"Really? Why doubtful?"
I open my mouth, failing to come up with anything witty in reply and he nods sagely, lips ticking upwards meanly to match mine. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
"Has anyone ever told you that you're an asshole?"
"Many people. You more than once. Has anyone ever told you that you're annoying?"
"Oh, I'm sure you get that a lot."
"I don't actually. I think it's something to do with the fact that I'm self-aware."
"Wow, asshole and a liar—this is turning out to be quite the impressive resume you have."
His eyes raise at that, and he leans back farther in his seat, silent for a beat. I think I've won this round until he conversationally says, "Who let you out of your cage tonight?"
My teeth instinctively bare, response coming quick. "Shouldn't I be asking you that, Doggy?"
His eyes lock intently with mine as I move toward him, not blinking up until I'm perched on the arm of his chaise, feet tucked to the side of his legs, struggling to come up with a reason for why I would do such a thing.
"What are you doing?"
I don't know.
"Spending time with an enemy of mine. Does this make you nervous?" I lean back, palms to plastic, and he makes a small noise out the back of his throat.
"Find somewhere else to sit."
I don't break gaze, pulling my hair up into a high bun with an elastic tie. "I like this spot right here actually."
"Well, I don't. Move."
I don't make any efforts to leave him alone, preferring to lean even further into his personal space. "How's your lust poem coming along? If you need inspiration, I can be your muse."
"I'd sooner throw myself into an active volcano."
"Aw, you'd sacrifice yourself for me?"
"Sure, I'd even let you go first."
"So we can be together in the afterlife?"
"Oh, we'll be in two very different places in the afterlife, Cleodora."
I cock my head now, shifting to rest a hand against his cheek in a way that would probably be read as affectionate from an outsider. But inside, we know it's a game. It catches him off guard for a half second, eyes widening in the time it takes to blink before returning to normal.
But that's all it takes to boost my ego to an unhealthy height.
"Don't be so negative, Doggy." It's just above a whisper, eyes soft with faux concern. "I'm sure if you start getting on your knees now, the angels will take pity and let you through the pearly gates too."
He responds in an instant, taking my wrist to let his lips brush slowly, deliberately, against the skin. My body goes cold, hot, stomach flipping—twice. And it's only then that his voice lowers to lethal. "I'd choose to stay with the Devil for all of eternity if heaven meant enduring you for even a day."
I don't move from his grip, knowing that would be an automatic admission of defeat, instead swallowing thickly. "Do you think the Devil would offer you his throne?"
My opponent's lips twitch the slightest bit, long fingers threading around my wrist tightly, a vise. "He wouldn't have to. I'd simply take it."
Then he lets go.
My body acts on its own, shifting forward, hands to plastic so that I'm hovering right above the book, right above the man. He doesn't make any efforts to meet my gaze. My eyes narrow, voice leaving my mouth a little loud, a little desperate.
"I find it hard to believe Lucifer would be able to be brought down by a lowly demon like you."
His eyes flash up suddenly, end of his pen darting up violently to tip my chin toward him. Then he leans closer to whisper, "You're really all over me tonight, Cleodora. It's kind of pathetic."
"Pathetic?" I repeat.
He's so close that if I breathe too hard I know I could mess up that perfect hair of his. Eyes flat but crinkled meanly. That beauty mark under his eye still grates on every last one of my nerves as the corners of his lips pull into a smirk. "That's right. Pathetic."
I don't respond—can't, face flooding with heat from an emotion too hard to pin. So instead, I do the most sensible thing I can.
I snatch his notebook and make a run for it.
"Hey!" He gets up so fast he almost falls over. "Give that back or I swear to god—"
"You swear to god, what?" It comes out as a taunt, and I find myself dangling the leather over open water, brows raised.
"Cleodora—"
"It's Cleo!"
"—You mess up that book and you'll be six feet under by tomorrow morning.
"You'd do it with your bare hands?"
He's coming closer, and I'm backing around the pool slowly.
"If by bare hands, you mean quick and dirty then no. I'd make you wait for it. Days, months even. Then one day out of the blue—surprise—hemlock in your coffee."
"Admirable." I trill, heartbeat speeding up to an obscene rate. "You'd go through all that trouble just for little, ol' me?"
"I don't let go of grudges easily. You may have noticed."
"Oh really? I actually hadn't—" my sentence breaks off into a squeak as he breaks toward me suddenly, arm circling my waist to bare skin as he snatches the book out my hand, easily holding it above my head, flashing more tattoo.
His heart's hammering against his ribcage to my back, and I'm sure mine's thumping out a similar rhythm. I'm pressed to him in all senses of the word and burning up like I've got a fever.
"You're a fucking pain in my ass." He hisses lowly into my ear, and something in my stomach—again—flips one time too many.
"Right back at ya, buddy." I manage to retort, craning my neck to look back at him. He's close enough for our noses to brush, hot breath on the side of my face, and I note the proximity with wide eyes, heartbeat kicking into overdrive.
We're staring at each other now, and I note how pretty he is with a tight feeling in my chest. He's got those naturally long lashes I wish I had, hazel eyes—liquid brown honey, the beauty mark under his eye, almost the shape of a little heart. My breath starts coming out shallower until I almost feel lightheaded because the way he's looking at me should be illegal.
Holy shit, what's going on?
I'm not sure exactly how long passes with us simply staring at each other. All I know is that the first one to snap out of it is Dane, letting go of my waist so suddenly, he accidentally thwacks me in the head with his notebook.
"Oh fuck." I flinch as his hand comes up to feel the spot, wincing when he quickly pulls away, movements flighty, uncontrolled. "Believe it or not I wasn't trying to hit—"
"No, no," I interrupt, shaking my head once so fast that I almost get whiplash. "You're fine. I mean...you're not—I-It's okay."
"Alright. Okay. Good." His eyes narrow in confusion like he can't believe the word vomit coming out his own mouth.
"Yeah, good," I repeat louder, crossing my arms over my chest, suddenly incredibly self-conscious.
Silence.
One second.
Two.
"Anyway I've got...work to do. Inside. My poem...uh," Dane's words trail off lamely when he finally does speak, and I bite down hard on my bottom lip.
"Right, your poem." My hand moves up to rub the back of my head, and his lips press together. There's a lump in my throat. I hate it. "G-go ahead. Write your stuff. I'll be ahead of you on the leaderboard this time."
"Mhm, good luck trying to make it on in the first place."
"Har. Har."
The last thing he sees before turning around to grab his bag from the lounge chair is my middle finger. The last thing I see is the corner of his lips turning up in something scarily similar to amusement.
I don't let out the breath I'm holding until he's through the gate.
***
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
that is all 😌