Twisted Summer by Morgan Lucy V

Author:Morgan, Lucy V. [Morgan, Lucy V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Adult, Romance, summer, England, Contemporary, LGBT, New adult, Young Adult
Published: 2013-03-31T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Pale moonlight. Silver shadows on our pillows. Esmé’s hair thrown across like melted gold, her breasts rising and falling in the soft undulations of sleep.

I wasn’t quite so lucky.

The knowledge that he lay a few rooms away was surreal, drunken, exhilarating and devastating. I wanted to burst through his door and clobber him over the head with a pear cider bottle. How dare he just show up after everything? How dare he?

An hour passed. Minutes and pixels melted away on my phone’s time display. In the end, I couldn’t stand it—I had to catch him while the house was quiet. Get some answers.

I pulled my dress pack on, closed the door behind me and padded down the little corridor to Gabe’s bedroom. A soft knock didn’t elicit a response.

“Gabe?” I stage-whispered. “You there?”

Still nothing. Gah, was I really going to do this? My fingers were already closing around the door handle, so yeah, I s’pose I was.

His bed was empty. I finally grew the balls to come find him, and he had the nerve to not be there.

I stared at his neatly made bed, and swallowed hard. We’d all returned from the pub hours ago. It was two o’clock in the morning. It occurred to me for a second that he might have skipped out on us, especially after the awkwardness at the bar, but before my pulse could break through the skin of my wrists I spotted his battered old suitcase in a corner and his watch on the bedside table.

Thank God for that.

But I had to find him, had to talk to him. I hurried back to slip on my flip flops and cardigan, careful not to wake Esmé (though the girl slept like a log. Anyone would think I came roofies). The floorboards creaked as I checked the living area: no luck. His car was still in the drive. Maybe he went back to the pub…?

Maybe he went back to go home with someone else. Acid stung in the back of my throat. Surely he wasn’t that crass. All those hours in his arms, in his bed, on the beach—

I knew exactly where he’d be. Of course I did. I knew Gabe better than anyone here.

As I hurried down the stone path, my steps made coarse grating sounds that panicked me after the quiet of the lodge. The night had turned chilly, and I wrapped my arms around my body, let my hair blow around my neck. All the while, I panicked that I was wrong, that he wouldn’t be there and that Esmé would wake up and think I’d gone batshit; the low-slung moon and its eerie white spill didn’t help, either. Just made the whole journey ominous and foreboding like I was the unwitting victim in an episode of Buffy.

I blinked once, twice; no, I saw right. A shadow sat hunched on the rock where I’d kissed Esmé earlier. It was probably even colder down by the rising tide, but he wore only his shorts and T-shirt.

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