Filed To Story: Pretty Poisoned Novel by Elle Mitchell
“You should have seen that coming,” Hazel says to Luca. “You were too slow.”
“Yeah, I realize that now,” he says.
“Poor Luca,” River says before leaving the booth, too. I look back just in time to see Luca walking away.
“Wait,” I say, grabbing him by the arm. “What’s going on?”
“I’m in trouble,” he says. “And you ” He pauses, looking me up and down again, and runs his knuckles over the exposed skin just above my waistline, then up my center. His fingers linger there, toying with the ties between my breasts, causing me to suck in a breath. “You are black licorice.”
“Black licorice?” I ask. “Everyone hates black licorice.”
“I don’t,” he says. “It’s sweet. It’s actually good for you in small amountsdid you know that?”
I shake my head.
“But in large quantities, it can be deadly. It’s poisonous; it can cause heart attacks.”
“I’m not poisonous,” I tell him.
“No, I believe you,” he says. “But my problem is I’m not really good at doing anything in moderation. It’s a fucking shame. I bet you are so fucking sweet.”
“I can be anything you want,” I say. “Just tell me what you want. It’s not Declan’s choice.”
“I really like this,” he says, still running his fingers over the low lace neckline across my breasts.
“I have it in black,” I tell him. “I’ll wear it in San Francisco.”
Luca shakes his head and laughs. “And you say you’re not poisonous. God damn.”
With that, he turns and heads for the back door.
“I’ll see you there!” I call after him. “Don’t forget to play my song.”
“Okay, Teagan,” he says over his shoulder before the door closes. “I’ll see you in San Francisco.”
What the fuck am I going to do now?
I was so closeand I didn’t plan for failure. I also never would have guessed I’d be stuck standing here alonehot and bothered, wet and horny as fuck. I look around the room and almost scream. I’d love to just pick someone to go burn this off with, but I can’t afford to waste time not that anyone here could live up to the tattooed rockstar sex god that just walked out the door.
“Fuck! God fucking damn it!” I scream, earning me a few questioning looks. I stomp out the door just in time to watch the tour bus pull away, and then walk a couple of cold, dark blocks back to the parking garage.
After aggressively pushing the unlock button about a hundred times, I climb inside the car and slam the door behind me. I turn the key in the ignition, and Declan’s voice blares through the speakers.
“Fuck!” I scream, punching my steering wheel with both of my fists. “Fuck this! Fuck Declan De Rossi! Fuck!”
I lean back in my seat, pull at my hair, and scream again. Then, I think of Lucaof the sweat running down his abs when he played tonight, his hungry eyes on my body, his tattooed hands. I reach down the front of my shorts and find my swollen, aching clit. I close my eyes, drop my head back, and think of those hands on me as I rub myself hard and fast, whimpering, chasing the relief I so desperately need until finally I get my release, legs shaking as my clit pulses against my fingers.
It still isn’t enough to take the edge off. Fuck.
I make myself come in my car’s front seat again before leaving the garage. Then, I take the 405 until I hit the 5 North and prepare to drive all night.
I’ll figure the rest out when I get there.
“Siri, find me a hotel.”
It’s six hours later when I reach the city limits of San Francisco. The sun hasn’t risen quite yetthat’s reassuring, at least. This time of year, I probably have an hour left. And if the sun is up, I know I won’t sleep. All I want is sleep.
“There are seven hotels near your current location,” she replies.
I skip the ones starting with ‘Motel’ and click on the nearest Hilton.
“Route recalculation. In one mile, turn left.”
Ten minutes later, I pull into the parking garage. I take the elevator to the first floor and approach the desk.
“I need a room, please,” I tell the woman.
“Check-in isn’t until eleven,” she says.
“Please? I’ve been driving all night. You don’t have any vacancies right now?”
“Ma’am, if I check you in now, I’ll have to charge you for last night as well as tonight. And the only room I can get you into has a five-hundred dollar nightly rate.”
I contemplate finding somewhere else to stay for only a minute before passing her Blakely’s ID. “It’s fine. I need sleep.”
She frowns but checks me in anyway. I take my purse, my backpack, and my keys and head up to the seventh floor.
I open the door and step into a moderately sized suite with a decent kitchen and a separate bedroom with a door and black-out curtains.
“Thank god,” I mutter to myself, stripping down to just my underwear and crawling into the bed.
My heavy eyes close as soon as my head hits the pillow. I feel myself drifting off to sleep when I suddenly remember
How the fuck am I going to get into the concert tonight?
“Shit ”
I pull out my phone and look up Luca on Instagram. Judging by the photos and stories from last night, it does seem like this is a personal account, and he is actually the one posting the photos, not some PR person.
But I can’t really message him from @terrorwithteagan, or he might find @trueterrorswithteagan and start to wonder what I’m up to.
That gives me an ideaone that might be better for getting his attention anyway.
I log out and create a new account, @blackliquoricenotpoison. I add one recent photo of myself to the grid and a selfie I took at the concert to my stories so he knows it’s me before liking and commenting on his recent posts enough to get his attention, then send a DM.
“Hey,” I read aloud as I type. “It’s Teagan. Remember me? I’m in SFwould love to see the show tonight. I promise I’m not poisonous. A little taste never hurt anyone. Heart and winking face.”
And send.
Now, I sleep.
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By the time I wake up, it’s already 2:00 PM. I grab my phone from the nightstand and instantly check my DMs.
Nothing. And he’s viewed my story, so that means he’s read it. He isn’t going to message me back.
Fuck.
My only backup plan is scalping. I don’t even understand how that works. Stealingthat might be easier.
I fucking refuse to go home.
I cross the hall to the bathroom where I shower, dry my hair, and apply makeup before heading to the kitchen. I fill the shitty coffee maker with water and one of those mesh coffee pods, hit brew, and wait.
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