Page 4 of Claiming Liberty
“What?”
“The cigarette.” I point again. “Could I have one?”
He stands up straight and looks down at the stick like it’s his first-born child I just asked him for.
“Sure,” he says, holding it out to me.
His longing expression makes me hesitant to take it, but when I do, I smile appreciatively. “Thanks.”
He takes out a lighter, and I pop the cigarette between my lips before leaning toward him. He strikes the lighter and hovers the flame over the tip, sending a tingle over my neck.
Something about it feels … intimate.
I suck in, pulling smoke into my lungs. It feels good. Sort of like hot sex with a bad boy. Horrible for you but worth it.
Okay, the cigarette isn’tthatgood.
Why am I thinking about sex?
When my lungs start to protest, I tilt my head back and exhale.
“Fuck, I needed that,” I say like I’m post-orgasm. I laugh and straighten my neck to look at the man. “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
“Little out of your league?”
I consider this a second before shrugging. I take another pull, then turn my head to absently blow to the skyline, as if New York could use the extra pollution. “I don’t know if I’d put it like that.”
On the one hand, sure, this is kind of out of my league in the sense that I don’t belong here and these people would never accept me. On the other, why do I need them to? They aren’tbetterthan me. They aren’t in a better league, they’re just playing a different sport. Croquet or some bullshit.
“How would you put it?”
I glance inside, remembering the sharp-nailed woman. The one who doesn’t even have her own name recognized but that would tear me apart as a juicy piece of gossip.
I meet the man’s gaze. “Rich people are judgmental as fuck.”
He grins like he’s amused. “You don’t say?”
“Seriously, what is even the point of this thing?” I ask, flicking a hand toward the gaping door. My ears start to heat. “I mean, how necessary is it to spend all this money throwing a party? Couldn’t they have just donated the money they would’ve spent on their ice sculpture to ALS directly? Do theyneedthe tablecloths that cost more than my tuition?”
“Tuition?” he asks, his head tilting.
I halt my rant, suddenly feeling self-conscious, and close my mouth a moment. It’s probably good that he cut me off. Talking shit about Robert’s peers is probably not the nicest girlfriend move. “Yeah, I’m in law school.”
I bring the cigarette to my mouth but pause when I remember the way he looked at the thing. I glance at his hand, cigarette free, and lower the smoke. “I didn’t take your last one, did I?”
He shrugs. “It’s fine.”
I hold it out to him. “Shit, sorry. Here, we’ll share it.”
He waves me off. “I’m good.”
I raise a brow. “I promise I don’t have cooties.”
“Really, you keep it.”
“You’re sure?”
He nods and smiles, his hands tucking into his pockets like he isn’t sure what to do with them. I’m pretty certain he’s lying, but it’s sweet. He actually gives a shit about someone other than himself. How chivalrous.