Right Kind of Wrong
There is no accidental meeting between souls…
-Sheila Burke
Chapter One
"It was the summer of 1989, when everybody called me Flick and it didn't occur to me to mind. It was the summer following the spring when my mom caught her asshole husband balls deep in his twenty-two year old secretary. It was the summer when Gramp's love of Oreo's and bacon finally caught up with him and he passed away after a rather vicious heart-attack. It was the summer me, mom, Sam and Michael moved to Santa Carla, turning Grampa's old house into our own. It was the summer the divorce left my mom without enough money to wipe her ass, the summer I had every aspiration of seeing Bowie in concert and the summer I vowed that if Sam defaced another one of my posters, he'd be flossing his teeth with my toenails…" Flick snorted, drawing the smouldering cigarette locked between her fingers to her lips, taking an enthusiastic drag. It was official, she'd seen Dirty Dancing way too many times…
Flick shuffled on the window ledge, one foot hooked behind her knee whilst she swung the other foot forward, blowing a cloud of grey smoke out of the open window, momentarily obscuring her vision of the late afternoon powder blue sky. She could make out the ocean in the near distance, the steady cobalt blue waves ebbing and flowing rhythmically, lapping at the stretch of golden sand. She ran her finger over the aged wood framing the window where the white paint was beginning to peel, revealing the wooden skeleton beneath and sighed, filling her lungs with the last drag of her cigarette before flicking the tab end out of the window, her eyes drifting to the dense forest that bordered the house on the left. The lush green leaves of the red fir and conifer trees swayed softly in the warm summers breeze, their umber and red tinted trunks standing proud and tall, seeming to climb endlessly towards the cloudless blue sky.
A loud knock on the bedroom door disturbed the quiet calm and she exhaled a sigh, scowling at her younger brother Sam when he bounded into the room without the mandatory invitation. "You know one day you're gonna barge in here and I'm gonna be naked and you've only got yourself to blame," she arched her brow, pushing herself up from the window ledge.
Sam pulled a face, clearly disturbed by the idea. "Why would you be walking around your room naked in the first place?"
"If I wanna walk around my room bare-assed then in the words of Bobby Brown – that's my prerogative," Flick retorted, moving over to her bed, sifting through the pile of posters scattered across it's crumpled surface.
"Have you been smoking?" Sam sniffed at the air, completely disregarding her response. Sometimes her little brother really did have the attention span of a Golden Retriever… "You know, smoking kills Flick, it stunts your growth, you'll end up 4ft 9 with lungs that resemble dried out prunes, is that what you want huh?" he chastised.
"Everybody's talkin' all this stuff about me, why don't they just let me live? I don't need permission, make my own decisions… that's my prerogative…" Flick warbled, plucking a dog-eared Motley Crue poster from the pile. "For your information, I'm 5ft 2-" she grinned, "-c'mon Sammy, quit being such a wet wipe, unclench, you're way too uptight," she rolled her eyes, tacking the poster to the white-washed wall.
"I am not uptight," Sam pouted, popping the collar on his rather loud cardigan.
"Yeah right, you're so uptight if you lodged a lump of coal up your ass, you'd shit out a diamond," Flick smirked, doubling back to retrieve another poster.
"That's so not-" Sam clenched his fists, his mouth opening and closing gormlessly as he ploughed through his back-log of what he thought were witty comebacks only to come up short. "Whatever," he huffed, dusting invisible specks of dirt from the sleeve of his cardigan.
"Did you actually have a reason for inviting yourself into my room or is this just a spontaneous visit?" Flick inquired after a brief lull in conversation as she debated where to place the poster of a smouldering Goblin King. God, that bulge should come with a warning label…
"I kinda volunteered to pick up dinner from the boardwalk and I was kinda wondering if you wanted to walk with me?" Sam smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Depends what's on the menu," Flick countered.
"There's this sweet place that does these killer sub sandwiches-"
"-You're scared about going to a sandwich shop on your own? How old are you Sammy?" she laughed, folding her arms over her chest, her eyebrow arched.
"I'm not scared-" her younger brother argued, his cheeks flushing pink, "-it's just this place apparently gets kinda rowdy after dark and well… look at me, I'm a walking target for the fashion rejects around here Flick, I'll end up walking home with 'ken' written across my forehead in goats blood or something…"
"I'd imagine what they'd write on your forehead to be a lot more vulgar than ken," Flick grinned earning a scowl. "I'm kidding baby brother, I'll come with you, just let me finish up here," she gestured to the random possessions strewn around her disorganised room.
Sam flopped down onto the end of his sister's bed, his eyes drifting over the posters littering her bedroom walls with a look of distaste on his face. "Are you really set on the whole cock-rock aesthetic?" he frowned.
"Cock-rock?" Flick grinned incredulously.
"Yeah that's what Josh used to call it-"
"-Josh? As in Josh the dweeb with the feathered hair and an obsession with rolled hem shorts? What does he know about anything that isn't Wham's greatest hits?" she scoffed.
Sam huffed a laugh. "He calls it cock-rock because all the music is pretty much one big sexual innuendo. I mean, how many euphemisms can there really be for sex?"
"More than what either you or Josh would know about, alter-boy," Flick teased.
~/~
Flick was sprawled on the lumpy couch flicking through an old Rolling Stone magazine waiting for Sam to finish pouting and fingering his hair in front of the bathroom mirror or whatever it was he'd been doing for the past twenty minutes. She was part-way through an interview with Slash when she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Flick peered over the back of the couch, rolling her eyes when she saw Sam fussing over his shirt, obviously suffering an internal struggle - to pop the collar or not to pop the collar, that is the question. "Is that what you're wearing?" Sam eyed her outfit -black ripped skinny jeans and a faded Guns 'n' Roses t-shirt- with a frown.
"We're going to some sketchy sandwich shop at the boardwalk, not for afternoon tea with the queen, I'd say I'm gonna draw less attention to myself than you are preppie-" Flick smirked, "-is Mike not coming with us?" she asked, tossing the magazine she'd been reading onto the coffee table.
"Nah, mom's got him lugging boxes or something in the garage," Sam shrugged.
"Probably Gramp's stuff," Flick's eyes drifted to the closed doors of her Grampa's old workroom.
"It's kinda weird being here without him, right?" Sam murmured.
"Totally," Flick sighed. "C'mon, let's go, it's about a thirty minute walk to the boardwalk remember?" she reminded him and Sam groaned, reluctantly trailing her out of the door.
Flick frowned, peering up at the streetlights lining the winding dirt road leading from the house into the town centre; most of them were out completely, offering no respite from the looming darkness while some intermittently flickered, teasing her with glimpses of dim yellow light. As they wandered further down the road with nothing but the sound of their feet scraping on lose stones and the rhythmic crash of the waves for company, Flick started to realise how creepy and sinister everything looked.
During the day beneath the bright, Californian sun, everything looked so inviting and non-threatening, the forest lining the sides of the road looked lush and brimming with life, the stretch of beach and it's glistening sand seemed welcoming and wholesome. However, when everything was cloaked in darkness, there was an ominous quality to the air. The forest took on the impression of a giant, gaping maw, silently waiting to swallow anyone who dared to venture close enough. While the once welcoming beach looked like the wrong place to be caught out alone, like there was something evil lurking in the shadows of the rocks, waiting to catch the last lonely straggler unfortunate enough to be left unaware.
Flick shuddered, she'd hate to have to make the walk back to the house alone; she wasn't usually someone who scared easily, but there was just something unsettling about her surroundings that set her on edge. "You know, I can see why they call this place the murder capital of the world…" Sam broke the silence that had fallen over the siblings.
"Huh? What're you talking about?" Flick frowned, tearing her eyes away from the forest.
"On the drive out here, someone had sprayed 'murder capital of the world' on the welcome sign – I can kinda see why…" he grimaced, glancing over his shoulder.
"We're just used to the bright lights and big city-" Flick shrugged, "-we're not in Phoenix anymore little brother, we're out in the sticks, bumfuck nowhere Santa Carla."
"I don't remember it being this creepy those summers when we used to visit Gramp's, or am I just remembering everything wrong?" Sam glanced over at his older sister, confused.
"We were looking at everything with rose tinted glasses back then Sammy, the scariest thing out here was Gramp's taxidermy birds and the threat of being caught sneaking one of his double stuffed Oreo's-" she grinned and Sam exhaled a light laugh, "-now we know the world isn't all sunshine, cupcakes and roses. It's tainted, full of disappointment, disillusion and hot shame."
"Hot shame, huh?-" Sam smirked, "-you know much about that?"
"Plenty," Flick winked, her eyes dancing with mirth.
~/~
Flick could make out the entrance to the boardwalk in the near distance, the quiet albeit eerie calm of the town disturbed by the loud, bordering on obnoxious music carrying on the air from the direction of the infamous attraction. She glanced over at her younger brother, noting the nostalgic twinkle in his eyes as a wondrous grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. As soon as they crossed the threshold to the boardwalk, a flood of childhood memories flooded the forefront of her mind, shrouding her in a blanket of wistful comfort. The boardwalk was a force all on its own, akin to a living, breathing creature that pulsed and oppressed the small coastal town; the vibrations, scents and flashing lights like tendrils that snaked and whipped the subdued surrounding areas. It was like a vacuum, sucking the life out of Santa Carla to hoard within its wooden walkway and mass of enticing attractions, collecting the souls of unsuspecting tourists and residents alike.
You couldn't control it, the minute you walked through the entrance you were blanketed under its magic until you walked out of the exit and even then, some of the magic still stayed with you. It was in the lingering odour of grease, cotton-candy and revitalising ocean air, along with the tingling of the bass that continued to ripple over your skin like TV static. The atmosphere of the boardwalk was electric, it was palpable, almost as if it was a living, breathing entity; the wooden boards vibrating beneath your feet as music of various styles and tempo pumped obnoxiously from multiple direction all at once like the thrum of a beating heart. Bright, neon lights flashed everywhere you looked, the eye-catching vibrant colours beckoning you to explore the longer you stared whilst the aroma of grease, beer, cotton-candy, hotdogs and burning driftwood hung heavy in the air, leaving your senses overstimulated and overwhelmed and your taste buds tingling.
"So, where's this sandwich shop?" Flick inquired, scoping the near vicinity.
"I think it's down at the bottom end," he replied, peering over the crowds.
"Great," Flick grimaced, stumbling back slightly as group of friends bustled past, one of the group nudging her shoulder a little harder than was necessary. "Asshole," she muttered under her breath, steeling herself to fight through the sea of bodies surging up and down the boardwalk.
Flick followed Sam's lead, shoving him forward when he inevitably became distracted by a dingy looking comic store, it's dull storefront overshadowed by the bright, dazzling signs and advertisements of the stores bordering it. The further they wandered down the boardwalk, the less intense the crowds became, the atmosphere less stifling and more laid-back. Flick paused by the side of a grubby food truck, fishing a pack of crumpled Marlboro's from her back pocket much to Sam's displeasure.
"Oh c'mon Flick, is that really necessary? Do you think it makes you look cool? Are you that insecure?" Sam rolled his eyes, waving his hands in front of his face, attempting to evade the toxic smoke of her smouldering cigarette.
"Quit with the theatrics Sammy," she brought the cigarette to her lips, her eyes roaming the area for any sign of the illusive sandwich shop. "Hey, is that the place?" she asked, pointing to a ramshackle sun-bleached building, it's burnt out neon sign reading 'Sid's Subs'.
"Yeah, that's the place-" he nodded, "-see what I mean about it getting kinda rowdy after dark?" he motioned to the group of bikers spilling out of the front doors in a fit of raucous laughter, nudging and shoving at one another as they devoured thick, meaty subs.
"Are you ready to be stripped of your innocence baby brother?" Flick teased, flicking the butt of her cigarette over her shoulder.
"Smoking and littering? You're a first class hood," Sam chastised.
"Hood?" Flick arched her brow, "where'd you pull that insult from, the 1950's?"
"Can you ever like, just for a minute be normal?" Sam pouted, fluffing his hair.
"Normal's overrated," she shrugged, heading in the direction of the run-down building.
Flick stepped into the teeming sandwich shop, immediately assailed with the noise of a hundred different conversations told in loud, rumbling voices, all competing to be heard over the sound of loud rock music playing from old, beat-up speakers fixed in each corner of the shop. The sound of The Clash chanted over the din of deep Californian drawls mixed with the drawling cadence of those from out of town. Flick's heart pounded in exhilaration, her pulse racing like the rapid flutter of a hummingbird's wings, the rowdy atmosphere setting her nerves on fire in the most pleasurable way.
She glanced at her brother, finding his face ashen, his innocent baby blue eyes darting around the crowded space nervously. The place was brimming with a mixture of gruff, leather clad bikers, Surf Nazi's with their SS tattoo's and ripped denim waistcoats, out of place families looking for a cheap bite and random scatterings of friendship groups. A thick cloud of smoke hung heavy in the air, shrouding the ramshackle eatery in a thick, lung tickling mist whilst the odour of stale sweat, tobacco, grease and fresh bread seemed to cling to every surface.
The line to place orders quickly dwindled and Flick pushed Sam forward, urging him to snap out of his jittery disposition, "Italian BMT on white with lettuce, extra pickles, mayo and sweet onion relish," Flick made her request, "oh yeah, get me a bag of chips too and a Coke," she added, motioning to the fully stocked display case.
"O-OK," Sam mumbled nervously, tentatively approaching the counter.
"I'll be right over here!" Flick hollered, waving from her spot by a random brick column at the foot of some ratty wooden stairs. She fished out her Marlboro's, the heavy odour of cigarette smoke triggering her craving for nicotine as she brought the thin white stick to her lips, running the flame of her lighter over the tip. Flick casually leant against the column, her eyes drifting around the crammed shop with intrigue; she raised her head, scoping the level leading off from the splintered stairs, finding a wide space filled with worn pool tables. There were only two tables occupied, one by a group of Surf Nazi's and one by a group of friends, their style eclectic but dark. Flick drew her cigarette to her lips, mouthing along to the song playing in the background when she was suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end whilst her skin prickled like she'd just walked into a wall of static. She swallowed, her eyes drifting from the floor to the rowdy crowds, trying to figure out what was causing such a strong, unrelenting sensation.
Flick's attention was once again brought to the upper level and her heart leapt into her throat when she locked eyes with a wild haired blonde, his pale grey eyes twinkling with something dark yet completely compelling. Her mouth suddenly felt dry whilst the palms of her hands grew slick with sweat. She shifted her feet, feeling exposed under the strangers intense stare, yet unable and apparently unwilling to tear her eyes away. Pushing past the initial shock of such a blatant stare, Flick started to notice just how attractive he was. He was her kind of guy with his alternative sense of style and wild, dirty blonde hair remiscent of the men she fawned over, the ones pinned up on her bedroom wall.
Her heart literally and figuratively skipped a beat when his face broke out in a knee-weakening smile, his smile seeming to light up his whole face. He was stood leaning against a pool cue, his chin resting on top of his knuckles whilst his friend took his shot, banking one of the coloured balls in one of the white, netted pockets. His friend lucked out on the next shot and nudged his shoulder, motioning for him to take his turn. Flick felt her cheeks heat, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips when he winked, peering over at her across the table as he lined up the ball and cue.
He was about to take his shot when one of the Surf Nazi's manning the table beside him and his friends slammed into him, causing him to lose focus, his cheeky smile morphing into a pissed off scowl. "Watch where you're fucking going douchebag," she heard him warn, glaring at the insolent Surf Nazi who was looking at him like he was the one in the wrong. What an asshole, the son of a bitch walked into him.
"Oh yeah, or else what tough guy?" the mohawked douche scoffed as his friends swarmed the darkly eclectic group of friends in an attempt at intimidation.
"Or else I'll shove this cue so far up your fucking ass you'll be picking splinters from between your teeth asshole," wild hair sneered and Flick smirked in amusement.
She was such a sucker for a bad boy, that's probably where she was going wrong but boy was it worth it at the time.
"You need to watch your mouth man," mohawks friend interjected and wild hair laughed whilst his friends flanked him, their eyes dancing with mirth.
Something was going to go down, she could feel it. "You wanna come closer and say that?" wild hair challenged and the guy looked back at his friends who all nodded, eagerly pushing him forward. Wild hair grinned and wrapped his hands around the cue still in his hands and without warning, swung it out in front of him, cracking the wannabe tough guy around the side of his head, knocking him out cold. A rush of adrenaline coursed through Flicks veins as she observed all hell break lose when everyone seemed to rush forward, quickly turning the skirmish into a full-on brawl. Flick couldn't take her eyes off the scene playing out in front of her, it was like watching some kind of twisted dance, the grey eyed stranger and his friends ducking and weaving every blow of their opponents fist, never failing to land a punishing strike of their own.
Clearly on the losing end of a beat down, the group of Surf Nazi's started to scarper, filing out of the sandwich shop in one big wave. Flick ended up getting caught up in the surge of bodies, feeling herself losing her footing as she stumbled forward, the floor growing ever closer to her face. A pair of warm, strong hands wrapped around her forearms, leaving the skin beneath them scorched and tingling. "My mom always said girls would fall at my feet," a mischievous, Californian lilt drawled as she felt herself being righted. Flick attempted to regain her composure, finding it close to non-existent when she found herself face to face with the wild haired blonde, his pale grey eyes searching her face, his lips curved in a cute, boyish smile. "You good girl?" he asked, releasing her arms.
"Yeah, I think so – thanks," Flick smiled shyly, anxiously chewing on her bottom lip.
"Paul!" an unfamiliar voice hollered over the crowds and Flick followed the direction of the voice, spotting one of wild hairs friends stood by the door, beckoning him over.
"I'm coming dude, hold on," he hollered back, turning his attention to Flick.
"I'm Paul by the way or if you really wanted, I wouldn't object to being called your hero," he grinned impishly.
Flick laughed, his gorgeous smile infectious. "Flick," she smiled, finding herself putty beneath his twinkling grey eyes.
"I'll see you around Flick," he smiled.
There was something in his tone that told her it was a certainty rather than just a breezy parting of ways and the thought sent a giddy flutter to her core. With one last fleeting look, Paul weaved his way through the sea of bodies, disappearing into the night.
"Hey are you OK?" Sam's voice snapped her out of the trance she'd found herself in, his arms laden with bags full of sub sandwiches, chips and cans of Coke.
"Yeah, I'm fine Sammy," she assured him.
She was more than fine. When she'd looked into Paul's eyes, she'd felt the whisper of promise deep in her core, the flicker of something new and something exciting, something she'd never, ever felt before and it had everything to do with him.
~/~
"I can't believe this is happening, why does it have to happen to me?" Paul groaned, slumping over the rails bordering the beach, his head hanging dramatically in his hands. "I don't know how to be a boyfriend, never mind someone's mate," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Unfortunately, it doesn't come with a handbook-" David stated, "-you're working on instinct alone."
"But what if I fuck it up? What if I treat her like shit and that's it, she doesn't wanna be with me?" Paul frowned, turning to face his friends.
"It's inevitable you'll fuck up, this is you we're talking about," David deadpanned.
"Gee Dave, thanks for the vote of confidence," Paul scoffed.
"All you can do is try Paul, if you're sure she's the one-"
"-She is, I could feel it…" Paul interrupted.
"Then it won't be easy but it will be worth it," Dwayne patted his shoulder, ever the voice of reason.
"What did it feel like man, what it did it feel like when you saw her?" Marko asked eagerly.
"I don't know how to explain it dude, it was like a fucking shotgun to the temple man… it was just like boom, I just knew… I could feel it, like it had always been there, you know?" Paul tried to put the feelings into words but found it just didn't do it justice.
How could he explain something so innate? So ingrained. Something that felt like it had been woven into the very seams of his being. It was impossible.
"But did you see her and think, I wanna bang your fucking brains out?" Marko smirked.
"I don't wanna bang her man," Paul replied, his brows furrowed.
Of course, he was lying through his teeth, he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his damn life, but sex wasn't all that he was thinking about. He wanted everything with her, he wanted the whole damn package and it scared him. This wasn't just another meaningless sexual conquest, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was for keeps. She was it.
"No? Do you wanna make love?" Dwayne grinned, eliciting mocking snickers and Paul scowled. He didn't think he knew how to make love, he was strictly a fuck kinda guy.
"You might have your work cut out either way man, she's clearly jailbait," Marko smirked.
"You're fucking jailbait Winter, you dumb shit," David rolled his eyes, running the flame of his lighter over the cigarette clamped between his teeth.
"Hey, I might be biologically seventeen but by our standards, I'm fucking middle-aged," he countered haughtily.
"Yeah, and both you and Dwayne are fucking OAP's," Paul snorted, earning a sharp slap to the back of his head.
"Grow up," Dwayne scoffed at his two younger pack mates.
"And shut up," David added, blowing a plume of smoke over his shoulder.
"I don't shut up, I grow up and when I look at you, I throw up," Paul rhymed, shoving his fingers down his throat and faux retched.
"Really Paul? Is that how you plan to impress your mate? Childish rhymes and tactless insults?" David rolled his eyes.
Paul felt like the wind had been knocked out of his sails. "It's who I am, if she doesn't like it then-"
"-Then what Paul? Do you really think it won't hurt if she walks away from you? Do you really think you're invincible? That you won't feel anything if she rejects you?" David arched his brow.
Paul rubbed his sternum when a dull ache settled behind his ribs, his brows knitted in a deep frown. "Exactly-" Dwayne sighed, "-take some time out to figure out how you wanna play this Paul. I love you man but sometimes being so care-free and unfazed isn't gonna cut it, do you understand?"
Paul nodded dumbly.
"Right, we'll see you back at the cave," David announced, ushering Marko and Dwayne in the direction of the nearest bar.
~/~
Paul had paced the beach twice over, but all he could think about was her, he was overwhelmed with the need to see her, to be close to her. He made his way back onto the boardwalk and up towards the town centre. He scented the air and he could still make out the faint trace of her scent -blue raspberry candy- it was so mouth-watering, so enticing, it made his throat itch with want. Honing in on his predatory instincts, his connection to her as a mate and the faint trace of her scent, he slunk around back of the old library, making sure no one was around before he kicked his feet off the ground and took flight.
It wasn't long before he landed on the roof of an old two-storey house bordered by a vast cornfield and an equally significant, dense forest. The house itself had been built on the peak of a deceptively steep incline with a long winding dirt road leading from town, directly onto the houses drive-way. Paul inhaled deeply, shuddering when the alluring scent of her flooded his senses. He noiselessly navigated the roof a little to the left and immediately picked up two distinct masculine scents and another more floral feminine scent. Curiosity burned inside him and he found himself slipping through an open window on the second floor, dropping into a random bedroom.
One of the masculine scents he'd detected moments ago hung heavy in the air and he glanced over at the iron framed double bed to find a guy Paul figured was a year or so older than Flick with the same chocolate brown hair snoring softly. Older brother, Paul determined as he crept his way out of the bedroom, finding himself on the landing. Paul silently strolled down the landing, pausing outside one of the closed doors, he scented the air, picking up the second masculine scent and thought back to the first time he'd seen Flick, she'd been with a younger boy, was he maybe her younger brother? Paul backed away from the door, creeping further down the landing, finding the floral scent he'd picked up belonged to a woman he was guessing was Flick's mother.
Paul turned to face the door opposite the older woman's room, the deliciously sweet perfume of his mate making his head spin. He silently stepped into the room, the gnawing feeling in his core heightening when his eyes landed on Flick's peacefully sleeping form. He surveyed the room, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his eyes drifted over the plethora of band posters and huge stack of CD's piled next to a beat-up boombox. She was made for him. Paul mutedly approached the bed, his eyes automatically drifting to Flick's face. She was gorgeous. Her eyelashes were thick, long and naturally curled up towards her brows. Her facial features were soft but you could still make out the bone structure beneath. Her lips were pink and plump, her upper lip sporting a prominent cupid's bow and he found himself wondering what it would feel like to kiss her.
Unable to resist the urge, Paul ghosted his knuckles down her cheek, unsurprised to find her pale skin smooth, warm and soft to the touch. Flick sighed contently in her sleep, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. He retracted his hand before he succumbed to the unfamiliar desire to spend all night combing his fingers through her curls and caressing her velvet soft skin. Flick let out another soft sigh and rolled onto her back, causing the sheet covering her to fall to her waist.
Paul exhaled a slow, deep breath. The fallen sheet had exposed the generous contours of her chest that were barely covered in a baggy white tee, the material thin enough that he could make out the dusky pink colour of her peaked buds. Furthermore, the tee had ridden up, exposing a portion of her seductively curved waist and flat stomach. He felt a familiar stirring in his crotch and he stifled a groan when Flick's head fell to the side and he was left staring at the smooth, pale flesh of her neck, watching her pulse thrum rhythmically just beneath the surface.
Paul swallowed hard, feeling desire building with every second that he spent in her presence, knowing he had to leave before he did something that would fuck everything up. He took one last look at the girl who'd only hours ago flipped his world upside down before he hopped onto the ledge of the window and leapt into the air.