ANYTHING BUT ENEMIES

33. he enjoys humiliation

THERE'S NO SHAME like leaving a library after a little old lady named Marge just finished screaming her lungs out at you for making out with a guy on top of a table in a private study room.

Which, I guess isn't as private as the name suggests.

I guess I can also say there's no shame like stumbling off the table with no help whatsoever from said guy before struggling to cram all your shit into your tote bag as Marge makes you walk out the room together and past everyone in the library like she's a mall cop and you've just been caught stealing.

Or I could say there's no shame like that felt at the door when the guy turns around, the perfect image of holiness, saying, "Thank you, Ma'am. I don't know what got into me. I shouldn't have let this woman persuade me into partaking in such a vile act."

My mouth pops open, ready to defend myself, but Marge's already nodding in pitiful understanding at him and shooting me the dirtiest of all looks before letting the door slam shut in our faces.

We're silent for one second. Two.

"You asshole," I finally hiss, eyes wide as I turn to face Dane.

"Cleodora, don't be vulgar," is his response, smirk flitting across his face at my reaction. "What's going on with you today?"

"What is this? A fucking set up?"

"Maybe," he shrugs, enjoying this far too much for my liking.

My lipstick's still smeared around his mouth, hair a mess, and I can only imagine what I look like standing next to him on the sidewalk.

"What, do you enjoy humiliation?"

"Yeah, I thought we already established that I'm a sadistic masochist."

"You're disgusting."

"Thank you."

I roll my eyes, adjusting the straps of my totebag on my shoulder before swiping at my mouth with the back of my hand. "Now what?"

People walking down the street have definitely started to notice us now, stares lingering, chuckles emitting from the groups that roam by.

Dane either doesn't notice or doesn't care, gesturing to the sidewalk. "We'll find somewhere else I guess."

"Looking like this?"

"You look fine."

I narrow my eyes at him, and he reaches over to brush my hair out my face, using his thumb to scrub around my mouth.

My stomach grows warm at his touch.

"There, all fixed. Now come on."

I blindly follow like an idiot.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere."

"Somewhere that's not another library?"

"Not another library," he confirms.

We walk for about ten minutes—Dane a couple steps ahead of me the entire way—before stopping in front of a building that looks like a house. An eccentric house.

"What is this?"

He doesn't dignify my question with a response, pushing the door open before going inside. I follow again like a lamb led to slaughter.

The inside of the place is filled with stained glass, dark and dusty. A piano sits right in the entrance and a stack of board games line the back wall. There are a few people sitting at tables that look like pews around the place, either old or around our age, no in between.