“I’ll do them. Alone.” Sawyer speaks for the first time all night.
I finally chance a look at him as he rises from the table. His right eye has a gnarly purple and green bruise under it, and I know now that Laura wasn’t bluffing about the fight. But other than that, he’s his usual gorgeous self. So tall that I have to tip my head back to inspect him from my seated position. Hair thick and wavy, and a little wet on the ends like it’s still clinging to the last drips of the shower water. Green eyes, blazing with hatred in my direction. He doesn’t want me to help, that much is clear. Sawyer would rather clean a million dishes alone than enlist my help.
He walks out of the room without a backward glance, and two seconds later, on impulse, I get up to follow him. I can feel the adults’ eyes tracking me, but they don’t say anything.
My eyes fall to the very defined globes of Sawyer’s butt in his jeans as he stands with his back to me, elbow-deep in suds. The amount of times I’ve thought of Sawyer naked over the last two years, and admittedly before that, is shameful. I shouldn’t even say the real count. It almost makes it worse, hating the boy you’re so clearly attracted to. It sharpens everything, makes it all that much more intense. Both the lust, and the loathing.
“I told you I’d do it myself.” He practically growls as I step up next to him, dish towel in hand ready to dry.
“And I’m a guest of your mother’s and won’t disrespect her, so you’re stuck with me.” I give the smart-ass response with a snarky grin.
“Story of my life,” he grumbles, slopping a pan into the sink so that the water sprays up and hits me.
I flick some of the soap from my shirt, a white short-sleeve sweater, and when I look back up, Sawyer is staring right at the tiny damp spots on my boobs. My cheeks burn, and I notice the way his eyes linger and then jump to the side when he knows he’s been caught.
We wash and dry in silence for a few moments, the jolts of electric chemistry between us running like live wires about to spark.
“You really got into a fight with Matt in the lunchroom?” I ask, because I can’t help myself.
It sounds absurd, even as I say it aloud.
Sawyer’s eyes slide to the side. “Guess the rumors have been running rampant.”
“When you sucker punch your best friend in front of the entire school, that’s probably bound to happen,” I respond. “Why did you do it?”
Because I don’t really want to get the gory details of the fight. More of our fellow students were foaming at the mouth to the watch the videos of the fight, whereas I wanted to know the motive behind it. I’ve never known Sawyer to be violent, even if he could be cruel. And to fight his best friend? Well, something must have happened.
“He said some dumb shit.” Sawyer’s body ripples with tension.
A glass serving bowl passes from his hands to mine, and my towel dries off the droplets. “Like what dumb shit?”
My ex-best friend looks thoroughly annoyed by my pushing this line of questioning. “It doesn’t matter.”
Sawyer takes the sponge over a pan smeared with chicken leftovers. He gives it to me to dry, but our fingers end up touching and we both pull away.
“It seemed to matter enough to get a black eye over,” I point out.
A bunch of silverware clatters into the water with a bang, and Sawyer is suddenly glaring at me. “He said he wanted to take you to homecoming.”
My throat goes dry. Tingles shoot down my fingertips. Sweat seems to pool between my breasts. A knot of emotion forms so harshly in my throat that it feels like I could throw up a fire ball.
This guy, this boy who used to be my everything, hates me so much that he had to punch his best friend for daring to say he wanted to ask me to homecoming. It doesn’t matter if Matt was joking, or if he was going to ask me as a ruse. I wouldn’t have said yes either way. But Sawyer feels so strongly about blackballing me in this town, about putting me in my place, that he had to fight his own friend to keep it that way.
I’m embarrassed, ashamed, irrevocably heartbroken, and so, so angry.
I try to keep the tears out of my throat as I fire back with, “And the thought of someone wanting to take me on a date to a dance is so unfathomable? I’m so disgusting that there would be absolutely no way anyone would ever want to—”
“I didn’t want him to take you to homecoming! Not because I think the idea is ridiculous, or because I think you’re disgusting. I don’t. But because you don’t belong as a notch in Matt’s bedpost. You don’t deserve that. You deserve something better, much better. He was saying some dumb shit, so I popped him.”
Sawyer cuts me off, and the words he says, clipped and genuine, shock me to my core.
My nemesis, my ex-best friend, the person who tore my confidence apart is now … protecting me? It’s almost too surreal to grasp. He fought his best friend to, what? Protect my honor? Put respect on my name?
I’m so confused and tongue-tied that I don’t get to follow the endless line of questioning that is reverberating through my brain before Sawyer hands me the last plate to dry, and walks out of the kitchen.
What the hell just happened? It’s the only thing I can think.
Other than I’m pretty sure, in his own screwed up way, Sawyer Roarke just let slip that he thinks I deserve someone so much better than Matt, and then he socked him.
Did that mean …
Does he think that someone better is him?
11
Sawyer
Another shirt flies over the dressing room door.
“This one is too pink.” Glavin’s voice is critical.
“You said you wanted to wear peach. Aren’t they the same thing?” I mutter, checking the time on my phone for the sixtieth time in five minutes.
We’ve been at the mall for over two hours, trying to find the perfect outfit for this asshole to wear to homecoming. I’m just wearing the same black slacks and gray button down I do every year, because I’m a guy and don’t give shit, but Glavin is always trying to be Mr. GQ. So far he’s sampled bow ties, suspenders, and even posed the question of using a cane for what he called “the swag effect.”
My best friend’s quirkiness is one of the reasons I love hanging out with the guy, but he dragged me to a mall and wouldn’t even let me stop for a large soda and a hot dog. Therefore, I’m fucking miserable.
“No, they’re not the same thing, you Neanderthal. I want to shine under that strobe light. The ladies will come a swarmin’.” He sticks his head out of the dressing room and winks.
“Or they’ll run in the opposite direction.” Matt snickers beside me.
We made up three days ago, when he brought over a peace-offering burger to my house, we fist bumped, and then played Madden for two hours straight. We’re guys, there was never going to be some hugging sob session. Now, we’re both bitching and moaning as Glavin makes us go from store to store.
“You’re worse than a chick with this outfit shit. Everyone is going to be too drunk to notice anyway,” I tell him.
It’s common knowledge that everyone downs shots in their car before venturing into homecoming. Only the underclassmen are sober, still making a fantasy out of homecoming and dancing with their crushes. By the time you’re a senior, you know you’ll only see these people for the next couple of months and then it’s off to a much larger, much racier dating pool.
“I’m going to homecoming to grind on some ass, maybe make out with someone, and then find an after party. You’re focusing way too much on the beforehand,” Matt seconds.
“Pictures are the best part! Memories, guys!” Glavin walks out of the dressing room with a pile of clothes for purchase in his hands.
“Great, can we go now?” I ask, ready to get home.
I promised Dad we’d work on some of my college application stuff today. He’s the biggest weapon in my arsenal to get into the Brockden architecture program, simply because I can pick his brain on what they may want to hear. Not that I don’t have my own ideas,
but I’d be an idiot not to enlist my dad’s help. And I want it; my family and I are close, just our three-person unit. We have the type of relationship where we all count on and support each other without any of that teenage animosity shit. Honestly, my parents are freaking lucky. If only they knew some of the stuff my peers were getting up to.
“I have to pick two pieces out of this pile, give me a minute. I can’t just buy it all, not like some people.” His eyes slide to me.
Being an only child, and one who is typically respectful and listens to my parents, they’ve never really said no to me. I appreciate all they give me, and we’re very well off in terms of money, so I never really understand it when my friends have to pick and choose what they buy or when they could grab a bite to eat. So far, I haven’t gotten a part-time job in retail or doing yard work on the weekends, unlike a lot of my friends, because my parents said I should focus on school work and they’ll provide for whatever extracurriculars I want. And I know Glavin and Matt are a tad bit envious of that, both coming from families who can’t necessarily provide for every whim and desire.
I just shrug, because what am I supposed to say to that?
“God, you’re annoying with that, man,” Matt responds to my silence, as if my parents having money is my fault or something.
“What do you want me to say? I still work hard, I’m still going to have just as hard of a job getting into college as you two. Probably harder, because both of you practically have your sports scholarships locked up.”
“We all don’t just have a free ride into college, or a guaranteed job waiting for us when we get out.” Matt rolls his eyes.
“And neither do I,” I shoot back, completely on the defensive.
“Yes, you do. Your daddy is waiting with his sure thing salary.” Glavin starts in too, and I might pummel them both.
It pisses me off that everyone just assumes I’m going into the family business because it’s the easy thing to do. As if taking advanced math and science courses is the easy thing. Not only that, but it’s not like my dad sits on some board at Brockden. Yes, he has a lot of friends and colleagues in the architecture space that could put in a good word, but that isn’t going to get me into the program. There are only so many spots, and those are won with great grades, SAT or ACT scores, and all of the other mumbo jumbo universities look for when accepting a student.
Not only that, but it’s as if they’re saying I’m settling or something, wanting to stay close to home and work in my family’s firm. I could go live in a big city, compete for work among architecture’s bright new stars, and be the same twenty-something douchebag a lot of my peers will turn into when they come out of college.
But that’s truly never been my dream. No, I really want to move back to Chester and work side by side with my father.
“You’re both assholes. If you think that I’m really just resting on my laurels and taking handouts when I work my ass—”
Matt holds his hands up. “We’re busting your chops, bro. We know you’re a kid genius.”
But Glavin doesn’t look like he’s on board. I know how tough his childhood was, coming from a broken home with five other siblings to compete with for food, attention, and everything else. He still hates me for how easy he thinks I have it.
“Whatever. Either of you have dates yet?” Glavin asks, knowing he’s wading into dangerous territory.
“Seriously, dude? You know what happened last time we talked about this, right?” My voice is pure annoyance.
Matt chuckles. “Don’t worry, I won’t make any comments about Blair. I like my face not bleeding more than I like a hot girl.”
He’s right; we haven’t exactly had any more discussions about Blair. Not that I haven’t been thinking about her way more than I’d like to admit. I have no idea what’s happened in the last month and a half. In the last two years, I’ve managed to keep my loathing for her securely in place. I’ve barely had to interact with her, and my frustrating attraction to her has gone unmentioned.
Then she shows up on the first day of school, hotter than Pamela Anderson running in slow motion down a beach, and it’s like my brain, dick, heart, and friends can’t fucking shut up about her. She’s everywhere I look, even in my own house.
It’s not like we haven’t had numerous occasions where our parents’ parties or holiday celebrations have brought us together. But in the past, I’ve just gritted my teeth and put up with it.
So why did I spill my stupid guts in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes? I showed her that I actually care; I let my guard slip. I’ve been cracking any time I am around her now, and it has to stop.
Because for all I know, I’ll let her in again and she’ll break me even more than she had that night two years ago.
“And I like a bunch of hot girls more than I like just one. Which is why I plan on cleaning up at homecoming.” I puff my chest out like the cocky asshole I’m being.
Every word is true, though. To safeguard myself against whatever is growing in my chest for Blair, I have to show her just how little she means to me. And homecoming is going to give her a front row center view of exactly that.
12
Blair
After two more weeks of running around like crazy, organizing parking, the DJ, décor, and everything in between, homecoming is finally upon us.
Nate and I, of course, have to show up two hours early at the high school to get everything set up. Which means I have the pleasure of getting dressed and doing my hair and makeup in the girl’s locker room while the rest of the senior class sneaks shots of vodka in their cars before heading inside. It’s a horribly kept secret that almost all of the upperclassmen come to homecoming drunk, and the teachers try to enforce the rule that you’ll be kicked out. That’s never happened in my three years at the dance, and I know it probably won’t happen this year.
The gym has been swathed in silver and black balloons, streamers, and ceiling drapes, all under our supervision, of course. We’ve transformed what is usually a sweaty mess of a room where students play volleyball and basketball into a halfway decent fantasyland. You almost can’t tell that it’s the place where most students pad their report cards with As they barely work for.
I run a strand of hair through my curling iron in the empty locker room. I’m kind of bummed that I won’t be able to get ready with Laura, but we’ll have prom for that. As it is, I’m way too jittery to be around anyone right now. The prospect of seeing him at the dance has been gnawing at me all day.
Things with Sawyer and me are weird. After the night he drove me home, and then the encounter at his parent’s house, it feels like we’re circling closer and closer to the center of the sun. We’re bound to get burned, but it’s like we can’t stop ourselves. All of this fighting and animosity has to come to a head at some point. It’s either going to blow us both to smithereens, or, possibly, smooth itself out?
With his comments by the sink, as he was washing and I was drying, my view of him warped again. I turned him into a villain in my mind over the past two years, and to hear that he stood up for me is … well, shocking. I’ve seen him during class this week, we couldn’t necessarily avoid each other sitting in the same row. And each time, my heart sped like a race horse, my mouth going dry.
I am supposed to hate Sawyer Roarke. So why is my body’s first inclination to go into a tailspin of lust around him?
Nate lets out a low whistle as I leave the locker room to find him waiting alone in the empty hallway. “Damn, Oden, you clean up nice.”
“You’re not doing so bad yourself, buddy.” I walk over to dust some imaginary fuzz off his tie.
He looks handsome in navy pants and a silvery gray button-down, with a tie dotted with small rainbow flags.
“No, seriously, you’re going to have the guys all over you tonight. Watch out for those grinding penises.” Nate cackles.
I roll my eyes. “You know how I feel about that.”
I find it pretty disgusting when a guy ju
st comes up behind a girl and starts basically humping her to the beat of the music. It’s rude not to ask, especially if you’ve never spoken to that person in the hallways at school. And I don’t find it particularly sexy, some teenage guy sweating on me to a bad rap song as he juts his hips because he has no idea how to move them.
No thanks, I’ll dance by myself.
“All right, bombshell. Let’s go take tickets.” He plants his arm on his hip and I loop mine through it, ready for the chaos before we get to enjoy the dance.
Forty minutes later, we’re finally relieved from the ticket table by two teacher chaperones, and are told that we’re free of our duties.
“Shall we go act like slutty teenagers?” Nate rubs his hands together.
I snort. “No, but I’ll have a little fun dancing.”
When we make our way to the epicenter of the gym, there is a sea of bodies undulating to the music, and the heat is almost unbearable. Sweat drips down my spine as Nate and I spin and laugh, while Laura dances with some junior who towers over her. She’ll have multiple dance partners tonight and revel in it; school dances are her bread and butter. I have to admit, there is something addicting about losing yourself in the dark to the beat.
I’m swept in the music, not really worrying about anything else since Nate and my duties are all but done, when something pulls my eyes across the dance floor.
Sawyer is there in the middle, head and shoulders above the other students, holding court as girls gyrate around him trying to catch his attention. Of course, we saw each other when he checked in, handing his ticket to Nate instead of me. A blush crept up my neck, but I avoided eye contact. Now that I knew what he did to prevent Matt from asking me to this dance, I … well, I don’t know what to do with that information.
His gaze shifts and lands directly on me. It starts at my toes, sweeping up my legs and over my hips, lingering on my breasts, and then planting itself directly into my eyes. Heat swamps me, and I have to press my thighs together to fight the friction I’m suddenly dying to feel between them. I keep dancing; the song switching to a slower, sexier hip-hop groove. My hips sway to it, and I’m incredibly aware that Sawyer and I are staring at each other across the crowd.
Foes & Cons Page 7