by Thorne, Leia
Patience is a virtue. Most guys would do well to learn this. Instead of moving in, I sit back. Remove my hand from her face. “Bryce and Asher keep extra clothes down here,” I say. “Be right back.”
I head to the closet again and search through the items. “So what happened out there?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. I think I had too much champagne.”
There’s a dark note in her voice. Shame. I close the closet doors and turn to face her, a couple folded outfits in my hands. “It happens. Nothing to be ashamed of.” I lay the clothes on the end cushion and reach behind my head, hooking my thumb into the neck of my wet shirt. I drag it up and off, then ball it and toss it aside.
Remi’s gaze travels over my chest, then quickly corrects its course to my face. “I don’t handle alcohol well,” she admits. “I try to only have one drink at parties.”
“Champagne is different. It’s designed to make you lightheaded.” I unbuckle my belt and unbutton my jeans. I’m lowering my pants and boxers before she can look away.
Her face flushes, the rush of blood returning color to her pallid skin.
I smirk as I walk toward her. “Can you hand me those boxers?”
She selects the dark-blue pair on top of the pile. Holds them out to me without looking my way.
“Thanks.” I hold them at my side. “You can look. My virtue is intact.”
She laughs. “But mine might not be.” She glances up at me and swears. “I meant that as a joke.”
But I’m already laughing. “You’re cute.” I slide on the boxers, then extend my hand to her. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
Remi hesitates a fraction of a second, then slides her hand into mine. Trust.
I pull her up beside me, then I turn around to give her privacy. “To help keep my virtue pure.”
She laughs, but I can hear the cadence of unease beneath the throaty sound. Then she groans. “Oh, my god. The silk is plastered to my body like cement.”
I face her and, while she’s struggling to get the soaked material over her waist, I grasp the bunched hem of the dress. She stills, her back to me, as I work and stretch the tight material out, then ease it up slowly. I slip it over her head as she raises her arms.
She doesn’t reach for the clothes right away. Instead, she knows what I’m looking at: the tattoo and scars that cross her back. I lay my palm against her spine gently, letting my fingertips reverently trace the slash of white scars.
“A car accident,” she answers my unspoken question.
I already knew this about her, but I would have asked. I want to hear her story through her, not what I read in her file. “And the tattoo?”
She shrugs, the movement against my hand causing her skin to ripple with gooseflesh. “I lost someone. My mom.”
I notice the initials in the center of the cross: MSJ.
“That’s intense,” I say.
She nods, but doesn’t say anything more.
I slip a finger beneath her bra and undo the clasp. Her arms come up to cover her breasts as I move around her. I take up the lounge, leaning back to look up at her, a challenging dare in my gaze.
Her throat works with a hard swallow, the only evidence that she’s nervous. Then with a measure of braveness I doubt she feels, she lowers her arms, showing me her body.
I let my eyes travel over her tits, leisurely taking her in. As I meet her eyes again, she looks at my cock and quickly flicks her gaze away.
I’m hard, erection standing at attention. I smile to break the tension. “It’s all your fault,” I say.
Her laugh touches my skin, light and edgy at the same time. “My fault?”
“Yes, for being so beautiful. So damn sexy. If you weren’t, and I wasn’t so attracted to you right now, I’d be limp as a noodle.”
Her laugh becomes more genuine. “Oh, my god. That’s like, blaming the victim logic. That’s ridiculous.”
“Are you a victim…to my charms?” I raise an eyebrow playfully.
“Wow. That was…awful.” She rolls her eyes, but her smile falters. “You’re gorgeous,” she says, reaching for the folded T-shirt. “You know this. I’m sure you rarely hear the word no.” She slides the shirt on, then grabs the other pair of boxers and steps into them, becoming fully dressed. Shame.
I reach down the front of my boxers and adjust my cock, purposely positioning the tip to peek out of the waistband. “So, my reputation proceeds me.”
She crosses her arms. “I’ve heard things.”
I place my hands behind my head and relax against the cushion. “Such as?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Teachers in classrooms.”
“And that’s a deal breaker?”
“What deal?”
I reach up and tug her down onto the lounge. I roll on top of her, capturing half her slender body beneath mine. “The one where you go out with me. We get to know each other better.”
Her breathing intensifies. “Like a date, or…?”
I run my finger along her jawline, studying her features. “Is sex a dirty word, Remi?”
“I should go.” She tries to move out of my hold, but I keep her pinned.
“Don’t go,” I say. “There’s nothing out there more interesting than what we have right here. Just tell me the truth.” I close in on top of her, erection pressed hard against her thigh. “Are you uncomfortable with what our bodies are designed to do naturally?”
She laughs at this, which I intend. “That is the most absurd pick-up line I’ve ever heard.” But then she looks into my eyes, all joking aside. “Honestly?”
I nod slowly.
“I don’t think I’m the kind of girl you’d be interested in.”
“Ah, come on. I’m sexy, you’re sexy. Are we going to let all this sexiness go to waste?”
“Gage…” It’s the first time she’s said my name, and it sounds suggestive in her breathy tone. “Seriously. I’m not your type. Let’s just leave it at that.”
I give her some space, back up a couple of inches. “You think this is just about nailing the new girl.”
She pushes out a breath. “Well, yeah. Considering, according to your impressive reputation, that you’ve nailed every other girl at the academy.”
“Touché.” I stroke a finger down her belly, eliciting a small shiver. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.”
She laughs. “All right. But get used to rejection.”
“Come here,” I say, pulling her closer to my side. “At least let me warm you up with my body heat. You’re still shivering.”
She swallows hard, letting me know that she’s long past the effects of the near drowning, and her shivers are all my doing. She relents, and I drape an arm over her, listening as her ragged breathing turns shallow.
I stare at her as her eyelids flicker closed, the sleeping aid finally taking hold as her adrenaline ebbs. And I wonder what all Sawyer has filled her head with; how much damage control is needed to correct Remi’s idea of me.
Not long after she drifts off, a knock sounds at the pool room door. I push off the lounge and walk to the door to unlock it. Sawyer is on the other side.
“Remi’s bag.” She holds it aloft, like she truly wants me to believe she’s concerned about Remi losing her designer purse.
I open the door wider, and Sawyer saunters in, stopping short when she sees Remi asleep on the lounge. Then she looks at me, gaze dropping to my boxers and then bounding up to my bare chest. “Have you converted our little virgin into one of your groupies already?”
Not giving me time to answer, she moves closer to me and drags her fingers over the front of boxers, making my dick jump. “Really, Gage. You’ve turned into such a cliché. You have zero impulse control.” Then she turns her back to me.
Fucking tease.
I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. She’s dripping wet from the pool. “On the contrary,” I whisper near her ear. “You’re an example of just how much c
ontrol I have.”
She scoffs. “Hardly.”
“I wonder…” I trail off as I dip my hand lower, slipping my fingers beneath the hem of her soaked top. “How much shit you’ve been filling her head with. It’s almost as if you’re working against us.”
Before she can snark out another retort, I hoist her into my arms and carry her toward the shower.
“What are you doing?” she snaps.
I plant her in the open shower stall and spin the dial. Water rains down from the showerhead, drenching her further. Arms flailing, she tries to escape, but I band my forearm around her waist and thrust her against the tile wall.
“You want to experience my lack of impulse control?” I grate out through clenched teeth.
The good doctor’s words mock me, and I want to laugh. It’s always the ones who suffer the worst of an affliction who are the harshest judge of others.
Sawyer glares at me through tangled strands of wet hair. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I close in, hands planted on either side of her head along the tile. My face just inches from hers. “Dare me,” I say.
The challenge in her green gaze tries to warn me off, but I’m in no mood for her games. I’ve been corked tight for years when it comes to her, and my sealed lid is ready to blow.
Let me tell you a secret. Girls pretend like they don’t want sex. And truthfully, they don’t. It’s the chase they crave; the foreplay. Girls get off on the ability to drive a man wild, make him crazy, make him lose control. Sawyer may be freer in her expression of sexuality, but she’s no different in that aspect.
She gets off on the idea that I want her so badly it causes me psychical pain.
She gets off on the idea that soon…very soon…I will snap.
I push off the shower wall and fist her drenched skirt, yank it up her thighs. She releases a tiny gasp, her palms fixed to the tile. I kick her legs apart and shove my hand between her thighs.
“Having suffered your torture, I’ve gained an immeasurable amount of self-control, Sawyer.” I use my knuckle to knead the soft mound beneath her wet panties. She bites her lip to keep from crying out. “You want a little boy-toy to drive crazy? I’m not him. I’m fucking sick of this charade. Either spread your legs, or fuck off.”
Her eyes blink open. She tries to close her legs, but I keep my feet in place, preventing her from moving. “Some brother you’re going to be,” she says.
My smile is cruel. I move in closer, resting my forehead to hers, swallow hard at the taste of her sweet breath against my lips. “That excuse doesn’t work on me, love. What do you want?”
She says nothing.
I smash my free hand against the tile. “Tell me what you fucking want, and stop playing games, Sawyer.”
She licks her lips, and I’m so tempted to steal her kiss…
But no. Not like this. I want her to be the one to give it to me freely. I want her.
I want to win.
A groan from the pool room floats between us, and the sound of Remi stirring awake makes my teeth clench.
“You’re time is always so poor,” Sawyer says. Her eyes spear me as I slowly back away. “The only reason you want me is because you can’t have me.”
I pinch her clit, making her eyes flutter closed and her thighs press against my hand. “Two can play at this game, baby.”
Then I step out of the shower.
“Where are you going?” she calls after me.
“To go bury my dick somewhere.” I pick my discarded clothes up off the floor, then throw on my wet T-shirt. “Take your lovesick puppy home.”
Chapter 10
Sawyer
At times, Gage can be somewhat delusional. His logic, his ego, his belief in controlling and twisting the psyche of others. His plan for worldwide domination.
But then there are times when he’s so close to the truth… It terrifies me. Should he ever glimpse that fear, I have no doubt he’d find a way to use it against me.
It’s not that I don’t trust him. We’ve been friends since…forever. Every major life experience, we’ve experience together. Every physical and emotion pain we’ve suffered together.
We were each others family before our parents decided to make it official.
It’s the simple fact that, if I discovered what he truly fears, I’d use it against him.
Knowledge is power.
Friends, lovers, and enemies can become one in the same in the blink of an eye, given the right circumstances. Love and hate tread on such a fine line. Both are extreme emotions. One easily mistaken for the other when wounded pride is in play.
I watch him across the cafeteria table. Since this weekend, he’s upped his game to claim Remi’s devotion. At least, I believe it’s a game. Gage plays it so well he’s even making me question whether or not he’s falling for her.
Just like Lesley.
Rush is seated on the other side of Remi, and he’s showing her a video of the team’s recent away game.
“See that there—” Rush points to the phone screen “—sacked. My third one of the season.” He high-fives Gage over Remi’s head.
I roll my eyes. Remi looks about as interested in football as I am. Which is not at all. But she’s doing a good job of stroking Rush’s ego, regardless. Not that Rush needs the added ego stroke; the whole cheerleading squad trips over themselves to suck his cock. But this is our group. The inner circle. Ever since Lesley died, Rush hasn’t been the same.
They were close.
And I know when Rush looks at Remi now, he’s sees her. A second chance not to fail her.
“When’s the next home game?” Remi asks him.
He tosses his mop of bangs out of his eyes. “This weekend. Want to come?”
“Sure. I never used to go to games at my old school, but I remember everyone getting so excited about them. I’d like to be a part of that here.” She smiles, and he matches that smile.
Gage looks at me. “We should all go. Show Rush some support.”
I flick my carrot around the cartridge tray.
Emry speaks up. “You guys never come to my lacrosse games,” he mock whines, and Palmer nudges him with her shoulder.
“We’ll come to your games too, baby,” Palmer says. “Oh. Which reminds me. I do have a recital this Friday. Maybe I can catch up with you guys later, afterward?”
I turn toward her. “How about I go to your ballet recital? That way we spread out the loving support.”
She beams. “Thank you, lover.” She kisses the air in my direction.
Just a couple years ago, the thought of one of her friends watching her dance would have sent her into a panic-fueled spiral. Palmer is my pride. I toss Remi a fleeting glance, wondering if she really can take Lesley’s place… What I had envisioned for her, anyway.
I look at Gage, who is watching me intently before he refocuses his attention on Remi. Despite the bet, Gage is right. Our goal is one and the same. Remi needs to accept her place among us willingly.
The thought that he might actually win incites me—but we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it. There are always ways to bargain with Gage.
I’ll give him the extra time with Remi. She needs the incentive.
Time is not infinite at Brighton.
Gage may think this is the most important moment of our lives, but I know better. Soon, our parents will merge firms, and we’ll succeed them to take ownership.
Only one of us can be in control.
I’ve spent the past couple of years laying the groundwork, and in one heated moment in that shower, Gage threatened to undo everything. I can’t let that happen.
The bell rings, echoing through against the wood and stone. As I toss my discarded lunch into the trashcan, I head through the double-arched doors, entering the crowded hallway, and a hand latches around my wrist. I’m pulled into the alcove between the stained-glass windows and brick wall.
Gage tugs me farther into the corner. “We need to talk.”
&n
bsp; I hike my pack onto my shoulder. Waiting. After what transpired between us at Bryce’s house, I’ve said very little to him this week.
“We need to call a truce,” he says. His eyes flick over my face. “For now. Our issues…or whatever they are…are getting in the way of the main objective.”
I lift my chin. “Fine.” Since I had already come to this conclusion on my own, there’s no need to push.
He cranes an eyebrow at my acquiesce. “Can I count on you this weekend?”
I release a restrained breath. “Of course.”
Gage tugs on the hem of my pleated uniform skirt. “You look quite sultry today, by the way.” He winks at me before he turns to go, but then adds: “Try to have fun with it, Sawyer.”
I watch him walk off, a swagger in his slow stride. The boy who owns the school. Who will one day own this town. And I smile to myself.
I’ve been having fun with it since day one.
Chapter 11
Remi
Game night at Brighton Saints Academy paints the school campus in a whole other light. The elite offspring of billionaires become battle hungry warriors, their faces inked in white and blue war paint—the school colors.
Gage and I are seated on the top row of the bleachers. I can feel the bass of the heavy, rhythmic drumming in my chest as the school band marches across the football field. Brighton cheerleaders take their post at the entry to the stadium locker rooms, a banner outstretched across the entrance, as they await the team to burst through.
The heat of Gage’s body next to me touches my thigh, warming my skin beneath my jeans, he’s sitting so close. I try not to envision what’s beneath his expensive clothes—my memory of what he looks like naked still sharp. I thought my embarrassment would fade after a week, but I find myself blushing whenever he stares at me outright, as if he’s daring me not to think about it.
It’s like sharing an inside secret.
His fingers brush mine on the metal bleacher, and I don’t move my hand away.
I clear my throat. “So, is everyone this fired up at every home game?”