The Liberator (A Dante Walker Novel) (Entangled Teen) by Victoria Scott Page B

from the kitchen and drain it in one long take. Then I flop down on a sketchy-looking, pastel-colored couch, which is about the nicest thing up in this joint, and snatch my phone from my pocket. My back stiffens when I see I have a text.
    Let it be from Charlie.
    Since I arrived in Denver, I’ve only gotten the one text from her, and even that one sounded off. I need something to remind me she’s still my girl, that we’re still us , but when I check to see who the text is from, my heart clenches like a fist. It’s Annabelle, and it’s only a single line:
    Check out ur hottie!
    My fingers tingle when I see there’s a pic attached to the message. Tapping the icon, and thinking I’ll scream if my phone moves any slower, I wait for the image to download.
    And then I see sweet Charlie.
    Except she doesn’t look so sweet.
    She looks sexy. She looks dangerous . And maybe she is, because I’m about to have massive coronary failure eyeing the skirt she’s wearing. “What the hell?” I mutter.
    “Damn. That your girl?” Lincoln’s leaning over my shoulder, ogling Charlie’s physique.
    I lower my phone and make sure Lincoln meets my glare. “You got two seconds to divert your eyes before I remove them from your skull.”
    He laughs, runs a hand through his greasy hair. “My bad. Just window shopping.”
    “Well, don’t.” I get up from the chair and head outside and into the cold. I don’t care that Gage and Lyra are once again feeding Aspen enough booze to drown a life jacket. I don’t care that it’s my job to seal her soul for heaven. All I do care about is getting a better look at the picture of Charlie.
    Standing in the snow, wrapped in a cloak of darkness, I study Charlie: her laughing face, her wide blue eyes. And that damn skirt. It looks like something she wore to a party a few weeks ago when she was proving a point, a night that ended with my carrying her out of a barn. But this time, it looks like she’s embracing her new figure. Like she’s finally figured out she’s got one, and she’s damn well going to flaunt it. I don’t blame her. If I’d spent seventeen years with an average body, I’d be eager to flash my goods. But this is Charlie. She’s better than that. Right?
    I rub my thumb over her picture and jerk as my phone starts ringing.
    It’s Charlie.
    For some idiotic reason, I glance around like I’m searching for someone to tell me what to do. I feel like I’m back in high school when I was alive, like I’m one of those cheerleader chicks who used to be all, “Oh, my gawd. He’s calling! What do I do?! Should I pick up?”
    I shake my head—what the hell am I doing?—and push accept. “’Sup?” I say, going for cool and calm and the exact opposite of how I feel.
    For a long moment, Charlie doesn’t speak. The silence makes my chest tighten like I swallowed a freaking porcupine. “I miss you,” she says finally, her voice soft.
    It doesn’t seem like it.
    You’ve barely called.
    Salem seems more important than I do.
    “I miss you, too,” I say. “I wish I were there.” Charlie is quiet again. So quiet I start to think she’ll hang up. I don’t understand what’s happened between us. I don’t get why we were perfect two days ago, and now I feel like I’m going to explode if she doesn’t say something. “Is everything okay?” I say, surprising myself. “I mean, between us.”
    “Of course,” she responds. “Why would you ask that?”
    If she thinks everything’s fine, then I don’t want to dwell on it. Instead, I try to steer the conversation forward. “No reason,” I say. “How’s everything at home? You only got—what?—four more days until school’s out for winter break?”
    “Three, actually. Last test is Thursday morning.” I hear a clipping noise on the other end of the line and imagine Charlie biting her nails. “But I’ve been having fun even with school in.”
    My stomach plummets. “Yeah? That’s cool. What have you been