Page 150 of Devils' Day Party
“Walk with me,” Barron purrs in that sensual baritone of his, each word like a caress of dark satin against my cheek. He turns around and starts walking backward, beckoning me forward, his sketchbook tucked under one arm.
I hurry to catch up with him, Raz and Calix not all that far behind me.
“I can’t stop drawing you today,” he says, studying the masked figures crouching on top of ruined cars or fucking in the backseat of an old minivan, the doors wide open, a boy’s pale ass pumping up and down. I glance away and take a sip of my drink, studying the outfits of the Devil Springs High students. Most of them are wearing something related to the school: a red hoodie with the grinning devil that makes up their mascot, black sweatpants with Don’t Deal with the Devil printed down one leg, or t-shirts with Devil Springs High written above a red splash that looks suspiciously like a blood splatter.
“Based on my insider knowledge,” I start, tapping the side of my head with a single finger. I’m wearing the black ballgown again, the one with the red laces and the corset-like bodice. “It seems you draw me every day.”
“Yes, but today’s different,” he says, handing me back the sketchbook. “It’s like my brain is bursting with images I can’t erase. They plague me unless I draw them.” I flip the book open, turning the pages until I get past the images I already recognize from earlier. Apparently, while I was getting ready to go, Barron added several more.
One of them features Erina, gun raised, the barrel pointed at April. I stand helplessly by as my friend falls toward the ground. Seeing it in still form like this gives me the chills, and I close the sketchbook quickly, tucking it against my chest.
“I’m living in a time loop,” I tell him, glancing his direction and seeing his brows furrow. “I’ve told you this before. Maybe some, distant part of you remembers?”
Barron says nothing, pausing near a plastic folding table covered in liquor bottles. He pours himself a generous amount of vodka in one, splashes in some juice, and then flicks those beautiful eyes my direction.
“A time loop, huh? Like … the same day on repeat?” he queries, and I shrug my shoulders. He doesn’t have to believe me, but I want to be honest.
“Exactly that. You’re drawing other timelines. The more days I live, the more timelines you have to draw. That’s why it’s getting harder.” I glance over my shoulder to see Raz and Calix, surrounded by girls—and a few boys—their mouths in coquettish half-smiles, lashes batting behind their masks. I narrow my eyes and glance back at Barron. He’s watching me with that intense stare of his, making me shiver.
“You’re cold,” he notes, almost clinically, but then he swings his jacket off his own shoulders and puts it over mine, leaning down to look me in the face. “If you’re right about this time loop thing, then we’ve fucked before. More than once.”
“Several times, actually,” I reply, lashes fluttering as Barron leans in and closes the gap between us, stealing my breath away and drawing it into his own lungs as he kisses me.
“You taste familiar,” he murmurs, licking my lower lip and then drawing back to his full height, rainbow Mohawk slicked back and colored orange by the roaring flames from the bonfire. “Like coming home.”
“Barron,” I warn, but I’m not-so-secretly pleased by his words, my lips curving into a smile. “I don’t expect you to believe me about the time loop thing. But I’m sort of working under an honesty is the only policy thing right now.”
“I don’t … not believe you,” he says, reaching up to rub at his chin and then shrugging those glorious shoulders of his. He could kick ass in most any sport, but then … he’s not a sportsman, is he? He’s a fucking artist. “But I’m not convinced, not yet. Maybe some more vodka would help?” Barron pours himself another generous cup as the song switches to some popular hip-hop tune that I just barely recognize. “If you plan on keeping a harem, you better go get your boys.” Barron nods his chin toward where Calix and Raz are standing, and I glance over my shoulder to see that they’re still surrounded.
I mean, Crescent Prep kids at a Devil Springs High party? Not the norm around here.
But … still.
I only ever get one night, and I’m not sharing it with anyone.
With a frown, I move over to the group and push my way through.
“Who the hell are you?” a girl in a wolf mask snarls, her expression blending into her mask so well that she looks like a feral beast.
“Who I am doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that these boys are mine.” I don’t smile to soften the blow. Instead, I just stare at her, bathed in firelight and shadows. She’s wearing a wolf’s mask, so surely, she can see that I’m marking my territory here?
