“Well, if the cult needs a virgin sacrifice, at least you’re safe,” he says, and winks.
I ignore the wink, tilt my head at him.
“I’d be a terrible sacrifice anyway,” I say. “They’re supposed to go peacefully, but you know I’d be kicking and screaming all the way to the altar.”
“I see you as more of the priestess type anyway,” he teases.
“Oh, so I’m the one holding the knife over some innocent maiden?” I ask, but I’m laughing.
“Well, you’re not the innocent maiden,” he says. “And if you said you were a conduit to some ancient god, I’d buy it.”
“Thanks, I think,” I say. “But maidens have nothing to fear from me. At least where ritual sacrifice is concerned.”
“I think a vanishingly small number are worried about ritual sacrifice, truth be told,” he says.
The thought flits across my mind — does he know many virgins? Are they still? — but I push it away.
“It’s been a while since I knew what virgins worried about,” I admit, and Seth laughs again, his breath escaping in puffs.
“Right?” he agrees.
We’re both quiet a moment, alone, in the cold and the dark, and it’s nice. It feels a little like dancing on a blade, on the edge of a cliff, but for right now we’re twirling and upright and if I let myself, I might believe it could always be this way.
“You should go inside, it’s freezing out here,” I finally say.
“Back to the agreement?” he asks, and his voice is suddenly intimate, quiet, and I start nodding before I can even think about it.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s been working, hasn’t it?”
“Mostly,” Seth says, and glances over his shoulder at the building, then back at me. “You’re right, I should get back.”
Something flashes on him, and I tilt my head.
“There’s something on your neck,” I say.
He rubs at it with one hand.
“Other side,” I say.
He tries again, misses, something pink and shiny winking at me in the dark.
“Right here,” I say, pointing at my own neck, covered by a scarf, and he frowns, drags his finger over the cords there, still doesn’t get it.
“Anything?” he asks, still pawing.
“Here.”
I step forward, close the distance, reach up and take a pink sticker off of the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, his skin hot beneath my fingertips. Even though I’m wearing layers of clothing, I think every hair on my body stands on end until I step back, hold up one finger.
On it is a shiny, skateboarding shark, and I hold it up for Seth to see.
“Rusty was here earlier,” he says. “She must’ve gotten me.”
“Apparently,” I say. “You want it back?”
“Sure.”
He makes no move to take it. After a moment I lean in, press the sticker to his chest.
“Thanks,” he says, and I look up at him, and I remind myself to breathe.
Somehow, even in the washed-out dark, his eyes are blue as anything, a shade I could never quite pick out no matter how hard I tried. Not quite cobalt, not quite ultramarine, not indigo or cerulean or lapis or anything else I’ve ever put on a canvas.
Clear blue eyes, dark tousled hair, the hint of stubble at the end of a long day, shadow of a smile on his lips.
I want to kiss him. I want to press myself against him, wind my fingers through his hair, crush his lips against mine. I want to do it so badly that for a moment I don’t trust myself to move so I just stand there, silent, stuck.
Then he raises one hand and touches the sticker himself and thank God, it breaks the spell.
“Go inside before you freeze,” I tell him.
“So you do care,” he teases, and I roll my eyes.
“Bye, Seth,” I say, taking a step backward.
“Bye, Delilah,” he says, and we both turn away, walk in opposite directions.
I shake my head, pull my keys from my pocket, focus on finding my car and unlocking it and getting in and starting the engine so I don’t think about going after him. I drive away so I’m not tempted to go back, turn him around, kiss him against the side of the building.
It’s always like this with us, the push and pull, the feeling that Seth and I are rubber banded together and the more we try to escape, the harder we snap back together. Usually we at least fuck before we fight, but apparently this time we skipped the fun part.
Maybe that means it’s getting better.
I stop at the end of the brewery’s driveway and glance in my rearview mirror, but there’s nothing behind me except a few people walking to their cars. I don’t know what I thought I’d see — Seth, forlorn, waving a white handkerchief at my departure?
I turn my music up, blast the heat, and turn onto the main road.Chapter Four