Black Iris Read Free Page A

Mal.”
    “Laney.”
    “Great to meet you, Laney. Stay law-abiding, and have fun.”
    Those are mutually exclusive, I thought.
    I began to move past her and she touched my elbow.
    “You here alone?”
    “Yeah.”
    She scanned me again, sharper. I’m a whopping five-foot-one, ninety pounds soaking wet, wide-eyed as those dolls that blink creepily on their own. Classic Dickensian waif.
    “You look like the girl next door,” she said with a note of pity. “Don’t go upstairs.”
    As soon as her attention shifted, I headed for the staircase.
    The second floor was pure raunch: strip poker, Jell-O wrestling, two girls Frenching messily while the crowd (male) whooped. Flyers littered the halls, advertising a local club. 8 0 S NIGHT WITH DJ APOLLO . I wandered around, listening, watching, absorbing, until a beefy guy cornered me and offered a red cup. I refused. Never take drinks from strangers.
    I could sense him .
    At every blond head my spine went straight and tight as a cracked whip. His presence was in the air, gamy, meaty, an electrochemical clue that made my skin prickle. I eavesdropped on conversations, hearing his name in slurred syllables. I felt the oily slide of his cologne over my skin. I felt his pheromones seeping into me, making every sensitive part of me harden and buzz.
    I was hunting.
    Gold flashed in the corner of my eye and flickered out of sight. I’d seen it before. I tracked it through sweaty skin and clouds of perfume to a closing bathroom door. There was an empty room opposite and I leaned in the dark doorway. My heart pumped liquid nitrogen, chilling me to the core.
    I held my phone at eye level.
    Breathe. Wait.
    The bathroom door opened.
    Now.
    I tapped CAPTURE when a girl stepped out and her head snapped straight to me.
    Our eyes locked. Blue, but not like mine. Bleached-out blue. Strapless black dress, bare skin and tattoos. Totally unlike the sorority sisters. She wore an oddly chagrined expression, as if I’d caught her doing something wrong. Neither of us moved. One beat, two, three.
    She turned and left.
    I sank to the floor, cradling my phone. My limbs were watery and weak. Not him. Not him.
    “You look lost.”
    It was the beefy guy who’d tried to give me beer. He stood a few feet away, sipping.
    “ ‘Not all those who wander are lost,’ ” I muttered.
    “Tolkien.”
    I’d already dismissed him, seeing only a fleshy traffic cone to veer around, but now I looked again. Husky guy in a polo. Light beard, bland bologna-pink face. Standard-issue bro.
    “Have you read the books?” he said.
    “No, I just memorize quotes to impress neckbeards.”
    He blinked.
    “Bye,” I said, standing.
    “Who’s your favorite author?”
    Nope.
    “I’m Josh.”
    Almost to the stairs.
    “Josh Winters. I’m a junior.”
    First step.
    “Comp sci major. I read epic fantasy and I play MMOs and I don’t know why I’m telling you this. But I’ve never met a girl who quotes Tolkien and I just want to know your name.”
    “Laney,” I blurted in exasperation.
    “Can I get you a drink?”
    “No.”
    “I’m sorry if I offended you. You’re just—you’re beautiful,” he said, and it became excruciatingly obvious how desperate he was. I don’t have illusions about my looks. I’m only slightly pretty in a decaying, feral way, my hair a little ragged, my makeup a little sloppy, my gaze a little too piercing and direct. What guys are attracted to is the sluttiness—the give-no-fuck way I carry myself, the mouth that knows how to suck a dick.
    “Want to go outside?” he said. “It’s quieter.”
    “No.”
    “Okay. We can talk here. Or wherever you want.”
    I stared at him silently.
    “What are you into?” he said.
    “Revenge.”
    “Is that a TV show?”
    I said nothing.
    “How about books? Music? What do you do for fun?”
    “I don’t have fun.”
    “Then what do you do at parties?”
    “Get high enough to fuck.”
    He started to smile, hesitantly. “Is that a joke?”
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