Eight (A pINK Novel, #2): PINK

By K.S. Thomas

Eight seconds at a time. That's how you beat the bull. Survive the ride. Win.

Eight seconds at a time.

It's been drilled into me for as long as I can remember. To help me focus. Manage my fear. Stay in control.

Eight seconds at a time.

I can do anything eight seconds at a time.

Even get over her.

Riot.

When she disappeared, it was all I could think to do. Keep breathing. Keep moving. Keep living.

Eight seconds at a time.

Until eight seconds turned to eight minutes. Eight hours. Eight days. Eight weeks. Eight months.

And finally, eight years.

Only now she's back.

And I know the only way I'm getting through this, is eight seconds at a time.

*Includes BONUS Prequel ELEVEN*

• Language: English
• Publisher: Never Did Point North Publishing
• Release date: Dec 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536571684

K.S. Thomas

Originally born and raised in Bremen, Germany, I currently reside in sunny Florida with my teenage daughter, our coyote, a three-legged roo, and a tamed wolf (AKA, our dogs). I like to think we have a bit of a Gilmore Girls thing going, except my kid is obsessed with dance not books, and I’m (much to my increasing disappointment) appropriately aged to have a teenager.    I love coffee and yoga and the ocean and cooking and asking 'none of my business' questions whenever possible. While I spent my childhood certain I could be a Disney princess, sitting here, surrounded by my crystals, smudge sticks and tarot cards, eager to get out to my garden and walk on the earth in my bare feet and chat with the lizards about not eating my plants, I’m pretty sure I grew up to be the witch. The good sort. And, obviously, I write romance novels. That is, after all, what brought us together. Our love for...well, love. And who can blame us? Love has the power to bring out the best and the worst in us. It can make us strong or be our greatest weakness. It can make us move mountains or make us do some of the dumbest shit in the history of dumb shit. In short, love is entertaining as hell.

Book preview

Eleven (A Prequel)

Chapter One

OH, GOD! WHAT IS THAT smell? Riot looks like she’s about to hurl.

I don’t smell anything. I take another whiff in case I’m just missing it. I only just showed up, so maybe the stink hasn’t reached me yet. When I still notice nothing, I take an obvious glance around the wide-open emptiness surrounding us and add, But since I’m the only other person here, you should probably be careful what you say next.

She lifts her nose, searching the air for the source of her disgust. We’re outside, standing in the middle of a field next to an ancient oak tree, so I’m finding it hard to believe she’s picked up on a scent this offensive to her. Unless it’s the horses we rode here. And given the way I’ve seen her face buried in Mona’s mane on countless occasions, all while sighing how heaven is a scent and how that scent is ‘horse’, I highly doubt that.

She scowls, and I grin, because she looks fucking adorable when completely appalled.

It’s putrid. Like something died, and then something else came and took a bath in the bodily fluids flowing out of it post-mortem.

Jesus, you’re cute when you’re being crass, I tease, even though I mean every word of it and she knows it. Riot never holds back. It’s one of my favorite things about her. No guessing. I know her every thought, every minute of every day. Even when it’s gross.

I’m still unreasonably delighted by her, when her nose lands on my cotton shirt right near my collar bone.

Oh my God! It’s you! Why do you smell like that? She draws away in horror.

What are you talking about? I don’t smell. I’m instantly less amused. Not completely offended yet, but absolutely moving forward cautiously. This is no longer a laughing matter. Nor is her state of total cuteness a positive thing while she’s backing away from me. It’s a sort of torture actually. I don’t want her backing away from me ever, least of all when she’s got me all hopped up on her ‘Riot charms’.

She comes back in three determined steps, like she’s about to jump off a bridge and can’t afford to think twice, then she swiftly presses her nose to my shirt. She’s hardcore like that. Yes. Yes, you do. You smell. You smell so fucking bad I think I might hurl. She waves her hand back and forth like a fan in front of her face. Ugh, it’s bad.

I lift my shirt up to sniff it, seeing no other choice but to at least indulge this ridiculous fantasy, or nightmare, of hers, if for no other reason than to prove that I am willing to believe her, even when she turns out to be wrong. Which she is. Because I smell nothing. I practically inhale the material just to be sure. All I smell is Audrey’s laundry detergent. My mom’s housekeeper. Audrey is as close as my mother gets to doing anything housework related. I do my own laundry, but I still use the detergent Audrey keeps in the cupboard on top of the washer. It’s fruity. Something tropical, I think.

It’s gross and it smells like vomit. Maybe it expired. Or maybe something died in it. Or maybe Aubrey puked in it after washing your dad’s underwear. I don’t know what to tell you. She throws her hands up at me, turning away and putting some distance between us. Because apparently, I smell that bad.

You’re serious right now. She’s not usually. Riot’s always off on some tangent or another that will have her rolling in laughter before long, but this time, I don’t see the usual spark in her eye and the standard way she bites on her cheek to keep from grinning is absent as well. She’s not about to laugh her ass off at me because I fell for yet another stupid joke. She really finds the smell of me nauseating. Which I don’t find exactly flattering when all I can think about is how damn cute she is and how I’d like nothing more than to have every inch of her body touching every inch of mine.

I’m sorry. She folds her arms over her stomach like she’s trying to settle it.

No. I’m sorry...I’m...making...you sick? I rake my hand through my messy black hair, rubbing my scalp through the thick waves in my state of confusion. I don’t even know what to do with this. Except do whatever it takes to get away from the stench, I guess. Which gives me an idea that could solve both of our problems. Ohhh, I get it now. Babe, you should have just asked. I shake my head at her, chiding playfully, like I’m in on the joke. A joke she’s not making. Yet.

Huh?

I pull my shirt off over my head. My clothes are making you sick, that’s an easy thing to fix.

Memphis! She covers her mouth, shocked by my suggestion. We’re out in the middle of a field. Anyone could see you.

Us, I correct her, unzipping my pants.

She laughs, wagging her finger at me. Nuh-uh. I’m not getting naked.

I drop my drawers into the grass. I’ve never been shy to begin with, but I’m finding the feeling of standing out in the middle of nowhere buck ass naked to be surprisingly liberating. I can’t wait to find out what making love to her under these conditions will feel like.

I’m suddenly wondering how we’ve never done this before. This is our tree. Our spot. Our Sanctuary. We should have christened it a hell of a long time ago.

Come here, I coax her softly.

Forget it. Her arms wrap tighter around her waist, as if to provide her with some sort of armor I can’t penetrate. We both know no such armor exists. She can’t really resist me, though she continues to try. This is so not happening.

Riot, I croon, dropping my voice another octave. I’m cheating. She told me once how the sound of her name on my mouth makes her turn to goo. Her words, not mine, but I’m planning on the goo. I can work with the goo.

"Not fair

!" She whips her pointer finger up again to wag it back and forth in my face, scolding me.

I just want you to come over here and smell me. It’s impossible to keep a straight face under these conditions. See if you still find me repugnant. I take a step toward her when she doesn’t move. And another, until I’m close enough to grab the finger she’s still pointing at me and pull her to me.

Completely and utterly repugnant, she whispers. I’ve never been so disgusted in all my life.

I totally understand, I reply, sinking down into her neck, my lips brushing her soft, sweet skin. Now that you mention it, I think your clothes stink too.

They do not, she squeals, doing her best to seem affronted even as her body begins to melt into mine.

Yeah, they do, I insist, my fingers reaching up for the spaghetti strap of her tank top and slowly moving it down over her shoulder. They really, really do.

I temporarily abandon the crook of her neck with my lips, to see her face. Her body is definitely on board with my intentions, but I need to see her face, read her, to be sure.

When she realizes what I’m doing, she rolls her eyes at me, sighing loudly. God, you’re so tiresome. So annoying. So –

Irresistible?

Unbelievable, she groans, moving her mouth so close to mine I can’t help but swipe my tongue out over her full bottom lip, just to taste her.

Hold off on the compliments, babe, I growl into her open mouth just as I dive in to I kiss her. At least until after I’ve done something worth complimenting.

She giggles, but the sound of it gets swept up in an instant when we connect again, and this time, we don’t break apart for silly conversation. We don’t break apart for anything outside of air.

Chapter Two

BEST HOUR I EVER SPENT at the library, she says quietly, while I move my fingers up and down the soft skin of her arm, tracing the tattoo she has there. A floral piece, all black and white anemones, reaching up around her shoulder and down her back. It’s one of seven tattoos she has painted onto her perfect body. Got the first one when she was only fourteen. Perks of having a tattoo artist for a sister, I suppose. Also doesn’t hurt that said sister doesn’t give two shits about following rules (or laws, depending on who you ask) and generally jumps on every chance she gets to piss off their uptight parents. Tattoos on their precious baby, definitely put her on the fast track to causing their mother a full-on tizzy. But then, most things seem to get Mrs. Rousseau riled up these days. If they didn’t, Riot and I wouldn’t have to meet like this. We could go on dates. Like normal teenagers.

Riot giggles lazily, curled into my body, tickling my side as her body bounces involuntarily from the quiet laughter. Her eyes are only half open, but it doesn’t do much to hide their beauty. Riot has eyes made for a Goddess. Big and mesmerizing, in a shade of brown so dark and deep, they look black most of the time. A person could drown in them if they stared at her too long. Some days, I think maybe I did. Once upon a time, she had the hair to match, but one too many comments about family resemblance between her and her mother sent her out to buy bleach one day and she’s been a platinum blonde ever since. It suits her. The contrast of her dark eyes against the bright hair. It sort of sums up who she is even if it’s in the most simplistic of ways.

How long before you have to get home? It’s my least favorite part of the conversation every time I have to ask, but I slide my fingers along the chain around her neck until I reach the ring dangling at its center and remind myself that someday, it won’t be a question, because my home will be her home and all of the secrets and hiding and dealing with uptight, unreasonable parents will be over. Two more years. That’s all. Two more years and we’re both of age. I can wait two more years when I know I’ve got a lifetime with her on the other end.

That all depends, she says, her tone losing its hazy, drunk quality and taking on the usual spitfire grit she speaks with when she’s up to something. And Riot is always up to something.

On what? I sit up, resting my head against the saddle and blankets we used to create our makeshift bed under the tree. The horses didn’t mind being rid of either. They’re grazing just a few feet down from us now, probably pretending they can’t see or hear us after what we just exposed them to. How much longer you can stand the smell of me? I tease, pinching the tip of her nose. It’s an exceptionally cute nose. But then, I’m biased. Can’t be in love with a girl from the time you’re seven and not think every damn thing about her is irresistible.

She smirks. I think we’ve eliminated the odor issue for the time being. I may make a run for it though if you decide to put your clothes back on. Her mouth runs over the skin on my chest, and I have to fight back a groan. I could have her all over again right this second. But there isn’t time.

Hey. I fist a handful of her hair and tug at it gently, tipping her head back and forcing her to look at me. It’s gonna get dark soon.

She won’t be derailed from her mission though and continues her journey down my chest and to my stomach, using her tongue in ways that make me almost forget that she needs me to press the issue, to get her to stop and get home before her mother loses it and finds some new and more creative ways to punish her. Last time Riot missed curfew, she was sentenced to four consecutive weekends of cleaning her crotchety aunt’s house. And dusting her fifty-thousand or so knickknacks wasn’t nearly as torturous as listening to her aunt recite every bible verse she’d ever read while pointing out all the ways in which Riot was already destined to go to hell.

Riot.

What? she whispers, the sensation of her hot breath mingling with the results of her extremely talented tongue.

I move my hand to her face and lift her chin one more time, pulling her away from my skin while also bringing her eyes up to meet mine. It’s not going to work.

What’s not going to work? As if I won’t notice, her hand moves along my stomach, slowly tracing downward. She’s sick and twisted and she’s going to give me blue balls set for the arctic.

You need to get home. As much as I would love for you to keep doing what you’re doing, there isn’t time.

She snorts, clearly frustrated by my thwarting her attempts of seductive confusion. You know, for a guy your dick doesn’t do nearly enough of your thinking for you.

I laugh. Trust me, my dick is plenty involved here. It’s not my brain overruling it. It’s my heart.

Yeah, well. Every once in a while, it wouldn’t hurt your heart to just let your dick fuck me, she grumbles, climbing off of me in a huff. Or, at least attempting to. I’ve got her on lockdown before she puts more than five inches between us, then I clamp down, forcing her back into place, flush against my body.

What. The. Hell. Riot?! My voice just dropped unnaturally low. Something is definitely up, and worse, she’s trying to hide it from me. I don’t fucking care for it. You need to start talking right now. And cut the bullshit. I’ll know.

Bossy prick, she clips under her breath, but I let it slide. Riot’s prone to tantrums. She just needs a minute to grow the fuck up again and then she’ll be straight with me.

I got all damn night, babe, even if you don’t. You just take your sweet-ass time if you must. I’m pretty content here with your naked body lying on top of me. I slide my hand down to the curve of her rear end and squeeze. Mine. All of it. And I’m never giving it up.

I don’t want to talk about it, she mumbles, no sign left of her spark.

Her index finger moves in small circles over my chest, her eyes glued to the motions.

Did something happen? Something with your mom? Her mom’s a real piece of work. I’m probably the biggest disappointment of my parents’ lives, but at least they still love me. Riot’s mom, hell, if she’s even capable of love, she sure as shit doesn’t know how to show it.

She shrugs. Just the same old stuff. Caught her digging through my dresser this morning. Hell, if I know what she thought she was looking for, but she found my notebook all the same. Marched my ass straight down to the kitchen where she made me watch her burn it on the gas stove. She wipes her face with the back of her hand, trying to hide the tears.

Fuck, I whisper, my chest tightening at the thought. I bend down and kiss her tousled hair over and over. "I’m sorry, babe. I’m so sorry."

She sniffs and twists her mouth back and forth as if contorting her face will somehow help her control it, help force back the feelings. It was my own fault. I shouldn’t have brought it home.

That notebook was filled words. Every last page. Every line, every inch of paper, covered in her thoughts. Poetry. Beautiful poems, the kind that make you think. The kind that hit you like a punch to the gut with the sort of emotions she can only ever seem to express on paper.

It’s not your fault your mother is insane. You should be allowed to bring home a fucking notebook without having to worry about someone torching it. Did she even open it before she lit it up? Did she read it? Does she have any fucking clue how incredibly talented you are?

Don’t be so dramatic, she scowls. She can never take a compliment. Not about her writing. And no, she didn’t read it. She just saw it and knew it was important to me. So, it had to go. Because clearly the only things I care about are bad news.

She means me. I’m bad news. I come from one of the wealthiest families in the state. My father is more respected than any other human being I’ve ever met, and my mother has a collection of crowns to prove her popularity, but none of that matters because I’m still me. The one person on earth who sees Riot for who she is and completely loves her for it. Worse, I encourage her to be herself under every circumstance. I support her writing. Her crass mouth. Her loud opinions. Her ink. Her wild hair. Her free spirit. It can’t be caged, no matter how much her mother would like it to be, how hard she tries to tie it down and snuff it out. Riot is wild. Just like the horses we both love so much. Maybe it’s why we both love them so much. She sees a kindred spirit, and me, I just see her.

Fuck her. Fuck her hurting you and fuck her trying to control everything all the fucking time. Let’s just pack our shit and get out of here. Tonight. Now. Just say the word.

She drags her gaze away from the invisible swirls she’s still drawing into my skin and brings it up to meet me. You’d really do that?

You know I would.

She stares at me. Like maybe she doesn’t know that. Only that’s not fucking possible.

Riot?

Finally, her lips begin to slide outward, stretching into the smallest of smiles. It’s not much, but it’s enough to let me know that she’ll be okay, even if I know losing that notebook crushed her. Thanks. I’m not taking you up on your amazing offer...but I kinda needed that. Then she sighs. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today, she whispers in a low voice still shrouded in emotion, I just can’t get my head straight. First my mom and her bullshit and then school and everyone talking about graduation...I just keep thinking how you’re going to leave me and how I’m not going to make it without you.

I move my hand over her back, stroking her skin as I go, coming around her shoulder and up to her face until I can swipe away the tears that have once again started rolling over her flushed, red cheeks. Babe, what the hell are you talking about? I’m not leaving you. Not ever.

Yes, you are, she blubbers, You’ll be done with school in less than two months. Then all we have left is this summer, before –

You’re nuts if you think all we have left is this summer, Riot, I cut in before she can finish. "I don’t care what crazy notions you’ve convinced yourself of, the end of this summer is not the end of us."

It won’t be the same, she sniffs, unwilling to admit I’m right.

"Nothing ever stays the same. Thank God. Can you imagine what our relationship might be like if it was still the same way it was back when we were ten and eight? Not nearly as much fun, I can tell you that for damn sure," I point out, half joking. Then I kiss her, touching my tongue to hers and reminding her of all the ways change has been good to us over the years.

She sinks into the kiss, opening up more and digging her fingers into my skin in an almost desperate attempt to claw her way into me. She’s really scared. It’s almost as if she doesn’t know. As if she forgot. Riot, I whisper, letting my voice rumble into her