Heaven's Crime (gxg) ✓

two. don't wake me up

                When I wake up, I am handcuffed to a stranger.

                This is, by far, the most creative place I have ever passed out. Around me, the remnants of the Halloween party are scattered around the house: glass is shattered, cups are spilled, and the floor is a tangle of half-dressed bodies.

                 The white marble countertop is sticky beneath me. I must have fallen asleep on top of it, sprawled out over the kitchen island―with her only two feet away.

                 Handcuffed to me.

                 Sober, she's even more beautiful than I remember. Her oil-black lashes flutter against her cheekbones, and her full lips are parted in sleep. She sleeps with her head buried in her arms, sitting on the high stool.

                  It must be close to seven in the morning. Nobody is awake.

                  Veah―she introduced herself as Veah.

                  Snatches of the night come back to me, flickering like static. Dancing on this very countertop―diving into the pool―playing golf with swords―drinking enough to kill a horse―

                 Jesus. Maybe parties can be fun.

                  The one part I can't remember, though―how I ended up handcuffed to her.

                  Secured with black steel cuffs that leave no room around my wrist, the chain is only about a forearm's distance away from Veah's hand.

                  I want to shake myself. Why did I agree to this? 

                  A key. We need a key.

                  As attractive as she is, I don't think being attached to someone is the best way to flirt with them. 

                  The moment I lift my arm, Veah's eyes snap open like a flash of lightning. Her uptilted eyes are dark―instantly alert. And I see it―the faintest motion of her other hand, touching something on her body. Something in her belt.

                  What was there yesterday? 

                  Her gun.

                  But it's a toy. It's plastic. It's . . . I shake myself. That's not the problem here―the handcuffs are.

                  Veah's eyes flick down to our joined hands, and her laugh is a whisper through the air. "A little bit freaky for a first date, yeah?"

                  Without meaning to, I blush. Is she calling me kinky? 

                  "I don't even remember―"

                  She tugs a little on the handcuff, and I suddenly realize my wrist is raw, chafed from a night of . . . well, whatever it is we did. I wince, and she notices.

                  "These look a little realistic for a Halloween prop," she remarks, biting her lip. My eyes slip down to her mouth, which looks pink and lush. Kissable.

                  I try to remember last night. Did we . . . 

                  As though she knows what I'm thinking, Veah laughs. "We didn't have time to," she says, and the way she says it―dark, full of meaning. "Between diving into the pool and mourning your dead goldfish, we were . . . occupied."