Foes & Cons
Carrie Aarons
Copyright © 2021 by Carrie Aarons
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Editing done by Proofing Style.
Cover designed by Okay Creations.
For every girl who thought she loved a boy, until he broke her heart.
I hope you found someone so worthy of taking care of it.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
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About the Author
Prologue
Blair
Two Years Ago
There is a very real chance that my heart may just pop right out of my throat.
As the bottle spins around and around, my fate hanging in the balance, I nearly watch my life flash before my eyes. Okay, so maybe not my life, because that’s a bit dramatic for a sixteen-year-old at her first real drinking party, or whatever you could call ten kids splitting a thirty rack of cheap beer in someone’s basement.
But if this was the only fight-or-flight situation I’ve faced in my short years, it would be a pretty decent excuse to see the whole timeline laid out before me. Because of the ten people who sit in this circle, five could be the boy to give me my first kiss. When someone jokingly brought up the idea of playing seven minutes in heaven, I laughed it off.
Until, of course, I was sitting in this stupid circle awaiting the verdict of who I’d go into that closet with.
There was Jimmy, the cute but cocky smart kid who sat behind me in math class. Or maybe it would be Scott, the junior varsity quarterback, who would plant one on me.
But, since fate was a cold-hearted bitch, I knew who would be on the other side of the bottle when it finished spinning.
Sawyer Roarke. The green-eyed, dark-haired boy who was growing into a man before my eyes. It was like puberty hit early for my childhood best friend, and every girl at our Chester, New Jersey high school had taken notice.
His arms were no longer that of a lean, skinny teenager, but growing muscles and veins in places that I had never before been attracted to on another person. Something had happened with his jaw, drawing my eyes to the sexy tic it does every other minute. For some reason, a simmer has ignited between us, one I never noticed before. I’d even had a dream about licking the dimple in his right cheek the other night and woken up with flaming hot skin on my face and chest.
Secretly, I’d been waiting most of my teenage life for him to be my first kiss. Having been best friends since before I can remember a time when we weren’t, our fathers ran an architecture firm together in our hometown. Our families were extremely close, we spent Thanksgiving together most every year, and it was a known inside joke between our mothers that we’d end up married someday.
That was, however, until two days ago. When I’d found the one thing that undid every school girl crush and daydream about our romantic future. When I’d stumbled upon Sawyer’s list of pros and cons about whether or not he could ever date me, or make me his girlfriend.
It was a humiliating piece of notebook paper, with each one of my biggest flaws laid out before me. There was no telling exactly when he put pen to paper, but by the descriptions in both columns, it had to be fairly recent, since “Hotter since her braces came off” had been on the pros side and I’d only gotten them off a month ago.
I found the list sticking out of one of his summer reading books, A Catcher in the Rye, to be specific. It was scribbled in his oh-too-familiar scrawl, and I shouldn’t have been snooping, but he was taking too long with grabbing popcorn for the scary movie marathon we were about to start. What I’d read was a list divided into two columns; reasons to date me and reasons to keep me in the friend zone.
Both of us had felt it this summer; the hazy, humid flirting on the line between friendship and love. It hadn’t always been this way, but as we hit puberty, it felt like our relationship was a speeding train heading for a breaking point. So apparently, Sawyer had decided to debate what it would mean to either be with me or not.
As we stared at each other across the circle, a snarky, cocky grin on his too full lips, I’m devastated by the emotion that grips me. What should be elation, or nervous wonder, or maybe even terrifying hope is just pain and anger. Because I know his innermost thoughts about me, the real way he feels about me when no one else is listening.
I know that a pro of dating me would be that I’m the funniest person he knows. Other positives included that I had a hot body, even if my rack was small—those were his words, verbatim. That I can tell what he’s feeling when no one else can, and that I’m the easiest person to talk to. Sawyer wrote that we had the same taste in movies, so going to the theater together would never be a fight. And he acknowledged that our families got along, obviously.
But as far as compliments, that’s where they stopped. The consequences of dating me were harsh, some of them downright mean, and they sliced through me with each word I read.
Not the cutest.
Doesn’t fit in with the popular crowd.
Could hold me back from dating someone prettier.
Cares too much about school, not enough about partying.
Can be rude, stuck up.
Homebody.
His reasons were all superficial, all about status or appearance. That’s what killed me the most. Because this person who I thought always had my back, who loved me no matter what way it was in, thought about me just like everyone else did. As the designated quirky girl, the one who was decently attractive but never going to be prom queen. I was on the outskirts of the popular crowd, and given his rising star status, Sawyer dating me would be a gamble. A risk.
So he was choosing not to go there, or so I assumed, because I couldn’t bring him recognition and golden couple vibes. All along, I’d thought our bond was deeper than that.
It stung like a bitch to discover that he was just as shallow as everyone else.
“Oh my God, how awkward!” Hailey, one of the most popular girl’s in our grade, cackled like a witch.
Next to me, my female best friend, Laura, snorts. “You two can’t kiss, it would be weird.”
“Rules are rules, dude. You have to go into the closet.” Glavin, Sawyer’s best friend and socce
r teammate, points to Laura’s grungy basement closet.
The thing looks like something out of the seventies, with wood-paneling and slatted sliding doors. Multiple couples have already gone in there, coming out to whoops and cheers, but who knows if any of them actually kissed or went further than that.
“No.” I try to laugh, but the sound comes out choked.
Not only do I not want to go in there like this, with my emotions so screwed up from finding that list. But I don’t want our possible first kiss to be in a room full of these people. I’d always envisioned that this moment would be special, if it were to ever happen.
“Oh come on, Oden, I promise I don’t bite.” Sawyer’s eyes are full of jokes.
Of course, as he holds out his hand to help me up and lead me to the closet, Sawyer is none the wiser to what I found in his bedroom. He thinks this is funny, that we’re going in on this practical joke together. He probably thinks we’ll put on a show for them, or just bullshit about the scary movie marathon we had the other night.
But my feelings are crushed, my heart trampled in the stampede of his judgments and criticisms.
With leaden feet, I walk to the closet, feeling the walls going up around the organ in my chest.
He steps in behind me, encasing us in darkness.
“This is dumb,” I say, but my voice sounds strange.
“Of course, it would land on me. But hey, at least you’re not in here with Glavin,” he jokes.
I shrug my shoulders, trying to come off nonchalant and thanking God that it’s dark in here. I’ve been sitting on this information for too long, and maybe I should have said something when I found it. We could have fought or screamed at each other. Now I feel like I’m facing a complete stranger.
“So, should we do this?” Sawyer’s tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, and I swear I almost cave.
There is something so sexy about that tiny action, and I nearly break and say yes. But pride, and self-preservation, act for me. When he begins to lean in, both of us holding our breath, I push my hand to his chest.
“In your dreams,” I try to joke, but it comes off cold.
I can see his green emeralds through the darkness, that’s how close they are, and the expression there is confusion. Because he doesn’t know that I know. And he was just about to test a theory, not fulfill a long-standing crush. That’s what guts me. I’m just a science experiment to him, something not fully worth pursuing but not giving up on either. Given the choice, I’d pick him every time. I’d have given anything for this to be real.
I just feel like crawling into my bed and crying into my pillowcase.
“You okay, B?” He uses the initial nickname he gave me when we were five.
There is no way I can answer that without breaking down in tears. And the only thing worse than walking out of this closet blushing would be walking out of it crying. So I push the doors open and exit.
Everyone wolf whistles and jeers
“He kisses like a frog prince … and that breath.” I wave my hand in front of my nose.
My eyes slide to Sawyer, who stands next to me, and I see the hurt flit over his face. Right before it’s replaced with anger. But I keep going, because I need to protect myself. I need to hurt him before he hurts me worse. As it is, I don’t think I’ll ever fully recover from the daggers he secretly threw my way.
“Believe me, girls, you do not want to go there. The saliva I was choking on.” I cackle evilly, and inside another piece of my heart breaks.
“What the fuck?” Sawyer looks at me, his eyebrows slashed together in angry dashes.
“Oh shit, well, I thought it would be more impressive than that.” Hailey gives Sawyer a once-over.
My best friend turns to me, fury and hurt colliding as his gaze burns me.
By the time sophomore year started two weeks later, our relationship was gone.
All love lost.
Nothing but animosity, revenge, and bitterness.
That was how Sawyer Roarke became my ex-best friend. And made my life a living hell as my sworn enemy.
1
Sawyer
It feels like I’ve been waiting forever to pull into this parking spot, one of the prime locations in the senior lot at the high school.
My chest swells as I swing my red Jeep Wrangler in between the lines, the doors and roof completely off in the warmth of early September. The stereo is cranked up, my phone blaring Linkin Park through the Bluetooth. Heads swing my way, and my ego is satisfied.
First day of senior year. A day I’ve been looking forward to for a number of reasons, but mostly because this year we’re alpha dogs. No more answering to whiny-ass older guys or girls who think they’re too good for me. Being captain of the soccer team. Slacking off enough in class so long as it secures our college acceptances. And of course, partying our faces off on the weekends before we leave this town for the next four years.
We feel golden, right now, on this precipice of the next chapter. But I can’t wait to enjoy the spoils in the coming months.
“Truck’s looking perfect, dude.” Glavin, my best friend and goalie on our soccer team, gives me a fist bump as I hold on to the roll bar and climb out of the driver’s seat.
A few girls and guys in our grade follow him over, and we all congregate around our cars before we’re forced to walk inside for homeroom.
The scene looks like that of any suburban, upper class high school. With the parking lot full of mostly new or gently used cars gifted for seventeenth birthdays. The school building, a pretty glass and steel structure, is only about four years old. It houses state-of-the-art science labs, athletic facilities, and even a swimming pool that got approved two budget votes ago. And all the students filtered out into groups containing the beautiful people, the band nerds, the art kids, the burnouts, and everyone in between.
“Thanks, man. Where is my breakfast?” I rub my stomach, lifting my shirt a little to show my abs.
Nearby, I see two of the girls who joined our group staring, and I wink at them. Not only am I out to win a state championship on the soccer field this year, but I plan on living my best life ever. I’m college bound this time next year, and I’m going to enjoy the spoils of this town even if it chews me up and spits me out.
They giggle and flutter their eyelashes at me.
Glavin pulls out something wrapped in tinfoil, and my mouth waters. He lives closer to Genardi’s, the town’s best deli, and since his stomach is the size of Mount Everest, I know he has two Taylor ham, egg, and cheese sandwiches in the brown paper bag for himself. I unwrap the tinfoil, and see my own bacon, egg, and cheese bagel.
“Clutch, dude, you’re the best.” I high five him.
“What do you have first period?” Hailey, one of the girls hanging around, curls into my side.
I don’t move into her, but I don’t move away. She’s a fun option for some weekend party or other. “History.”
“The smart kids’ kind. I don’t even know why you’re taking real classes this year,” Glavin adds.
“Woah, you’re in AP classes?” she asks, referring to the advanced placement courses some of the more intelligent kids are enrolled in.
I shrug, biting into my bagel. “Yeah. It’s not a big deal.”
In my circle of friends, though, it kind of is. I’m a part of the popular crowd, made up of mostly male and female jocks. It’s uncommon for kids in this crowd to actually thrive in school, because most of them are killing it out on the field. But my dream was never to go pro, like a lot of my other friends. No, I want to work for my dad at his architecture firm. That means advanced classes and a really hefty college course load. Becoming an architect is no joke, and I know I’ll have to work hard for it. Which is why I’m not taking my foot off the gas during senior year.
“You know what they say about guys with big brains, though …” Hailey gives me what is supposed to be a sultry side-eye.
“Who the hell is that?”
Glavin hit
s me in the shoulder. I turn my head to look in the direction that he’s staring, and my gaze runs straight into a perfect, perky ass.
It’s facing out to the parking lot, the upper half of whoever’s body that is bent into their car, a silver, newish-looking Camry. And Jesus Christ, is it spectacular. Round, encased in frayed denim jean shorts, and I can make out the tiny waist it leads up to. What I wouldn’t—and most of the guys turned around staring at it—do to follow that around for a while.
Matthew, our other best friend and quarterback of the football team, whistles low in his throat. “Dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs. We haven’t seen her face yet.” I growl, annoyed.
But if those legs, toned and tan, have anything to do with it, I don’t even need to see her face.
The girl straightens, and a head full of long brown curls blows in the morning summer breeze. She waves to someone, a bunch of gold bracelets jingling on a slim wrist.
And then she turns.
“What in the ever loving fuck …” Glavin’s jaw drops, as do the rest of ours.
Because the ass we were just staring at, the body I was fantasizing about grinding up on me at the homecoming dance, is none other than my sworn enemy.
Blair Oden.
Apparently, a summer away has turned her into every teenage guy’s wet dream. Jesus Christ, I actually think I can make out the form of her nipples underneath that tight white T-shirt. It has a little bow right where her cleavage dips down, and apparently her ass hasn’t been the only thing to round out. The sight of that fucking pink bow on her shirt accentuating tits that would be more than a handful if I felt the weight of them—
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