I don’t know why I care. He’s constantly getting in my face, I know next to nothing about him, and he’s dangerous for me. I’m not looking to break the mold when the year’s almost over. I’ve come this far, and I don’t want any drama. He should stay away.
But I find myself looking for him. In class. In the cafeteria. In the parking lot. Even when I go home, this small hope lights up that he’ll ambush me in my room just like that first day last week.
I want to be alone with him again. Those few stolen moments—the car, the lab, the library—they’re like my letters from Misha. Something to look forward to.
I didn’t leave any graffiti last night after swim lessons, partly because I almost got caught the night before with him and it was a good idea to back off for a few days, but also because I suddenly didn’t want to.
Masen was the release now.
And I hated that.
When Misha disappeared, and I didn’t know if he was getting my words, I started leaving them at school for people to read. It’s stupid and childish, but one day a couple of months ago, when things got to be too much, I was afraid I’d start screaming. So that night, before locking up the pool, I made a snap-second decision and took out my Sharpie. I wrote on a locker—a special message for just that person.
It was a fluke. It wouldn’t happen again.
But the next morning when I saw him read it over and over before finally writing it down and taping it to the inside of his locker, before the janitor could clean it off, it became something I wanted to do again. The messages became more frequent, bigger and louder, but never personal. Never with students’ names.
Not until last week with Lyla’s business aired on the front lawn. That wasn’t me, and it was all the more reason for me to stop. Others were following my lead now, and I didn’t want it to get any more out of hand. They’d hired security, so it was only a matter of time before they got the cameras working and someone got caught.
Especially when I’d been using washable spray-paint and only using markers on things, like metal, that could be cleaned, and not damaged, with nail polish remover. But the lawn had to be cut, since whoever did it had used permanent spray-paint, and the pressure washer didn’t work. How long before it got really destructive?
Well, it won’t fall on me. I didn’t write anything last night, and I’m not going to sneak in tonight, either. We’re all going to the drive-in, and my mom will be holding me to my curfew.
But what would happen if Masen wasn’t around anymore? What if I decide it’s too risky to keep sneaking into the school at night? Will I act out some other way?
No. Weak people have vices. I don’t need Misha, Masen, or anything else to make it through the day.
But as I walk out to the parking lot at the end of school, I can’t help but look for him again. His tall form, his dark brown hair, his green eyes that always find me and send an electric current through my body…
I was mean the other night. Again.
On the floor, in the library, after the dirty talk and the name-calling and the touching and kissing…he’d turned gentle and held me. After he made me come, and I could feel his eyes eating me up, he didn’t push me farther than that. He didn’t try to take off the rest of my clothes or climb on top of me and rush me into something I might not be ready for. He just laid there, holding me.
And I pushed him off and ran away.
I’m attracted to Masen, excited by him, and intrigued by him, but he isn’t forever. I don’t want to go to the prom with Trey, but I want to go, and Masen hasn’t asked me. I don’t even know if he’s going to be here in a week.
I’m not risking Trey and my friends for someone who’s never given the impression he actually wants me.
No matter how much I’m starting to like him.
Lyla and Ten are already at my Jeep, waiting, since we were going to go get food after school today. She stands on the rear driver’s side tire, holding on to the roll bar and yelling to someone farther away in the parking lot, while Ten sits in the back.
I toss my bag in beside him.
“Where have you been?” I hear a voice ask.
I turn around and see Trey standing in front of me. I would usually consider his navy blue T-shirt and white baseball cap attractive on him, but now I just see bare arms, void of tattoos, and boring blue eyes with boring pierced-less lips.
I want my delinquent.
Lyla hops down from the tire and stands next to me, too nosy for her own good.
“I’ve called, I’ve texted, and I don’t like being ignored,” he warns.
I look around me, lifting up my arms to see if I have anything on my clothes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I must have lost my dog tags,” I tell him. “You know the ones that say I’m your property, and I report to you.”
I can hear Ten’s quiet laugh off to the side. Trey’s eyes narrow to slits.
“You know,” he starts, “a little reciprocation from you wouldn’t be out of line. Especially when the whole school sees you and Laurent fucking around with each other.”
I stare at him, keeping my expression emotionless. Yeah, I’m sure the school has drawn several conclusions about Masen and me, given our arguments and the fact that they think I vandalized his truck. But Trey and I aren’t dating, and I don’t for one second think he’s not out there having a little fun of his own. I have no obligation to him, except to look nice for prom pictures.
A prom I agreed to go to when Masen wasn’t a factor.
“You can’t possibly be insecure,” I say, trying to work him. “You’re Trey Burrowes, and Masen Laurent will be walking your dogs someday.”
He stares at me for a moment and then he lets out a snort, visibly relaxing. Lyla laughs to herself, and I let out a breath.
“Did you get your dress?” he asks.
But Lyla nudges me, answering him, “We’re going shopping this weekend.”
“Good.” He comes in and takes my hips, pressing himself to me.
I don’t want him to kiss me, so I quickly turn my head, but his lips brush my forehead anyway.
I look up and see Masen.
He has his back to me, talking to J.D., but his head is turned, watching me over his shoulder. His eyes flash to Trey and then to me again, narrowing. My breathing hitches. Did he just get here? Or has he been around and I just missed him?
“I’ll see you at the drive-in tonight.” Trey’s thumb grazes my stomach, and then he gives me one last look before he leaves.
I feel crowded. Trey is demanding, Lyla’s in my business, and Masen is…everywhere. I feel his presence in the parking lot now, off to the right, like the sun burning on that side of my body.
“What’s the matter with you?” Lyla scolds. “If you don’t start being nicer, he’ll find someone who will.”
I shoot my eyes over to her, feeling them burn. “Nice, like you?” I ask. “Doesn’t look like being nice did you any good.” And I gesture over to J.D. who’s laughing with Masen.
Her boyfriend has barely spoken to her in days, probably because he knows what was written on the lawn last Friday was true—we all do—no matter how much Lyla denies it.
But then I do a double-take, it finally registering that J.D. is talking to Masen. When did they start being buddies?
“I can handle my boyfriend,” she says.
“And I can handle Trey. Thanks.”
I turn around and open the door, climbing into the Jeep. Lyla rounds the front of the car and slides into the passenger side, our little tiff still thick in the air. I wish she’d just go home. Every day is heavier and heavier with things I want to say to her, because I know she hates me. I want to call her on it, but I don’t know why. I can barely stand her, either, and there’s just as much bullshit to call me out on. Masen’s been doing it since he got here. Lyla and I are both hypocrites.
“Y’all, look at Katelyn,” Ten says, leaning up and gesturing out the front windshield.
I put my key to ignition and stop, look
ing up. Katelyn is talking to Masen again.
J.D. is gone, and she’s standing close to him, smiling and typing something into a phone. She then hands it to him, and he slips it in his pocket, looking down at her with all of his attention.
What?
My heart pounds in my chest, and I curl my fingers around the steering wheel, wanting to take her by the hair and pull her ass away from him. Really? Why is he looking at her like that? Why did he let her have his phone?
“Oh, God,” Lyla groans. “What is she doing?”
“She really is as dumb as a box of rocks.” Ten chuckles. “Five years from now, she’ll have four different baby-daddies. Just watch.”
My pulse rings in my ears as they laugh, but I blink, dropping my eyes.
Rocks.
Dumb. As. A. Box. Of. Rocks.
I raise my eyes, glaring at Masen Laurent. Motherfucker! That’s what he’s been calling me?
I turn my head away, so they can’t see me seething. Asshole.
Katelyn strolls away from him, looking all pleased with herself as she heads toward us.
“Did you just give him your phone number?” Lyla asks her, kneeling on the seat, one hand on a roll bar, another on the windshield.
Katelyn bites her bottom lip, trying to look coy as she holds my door and leans back playfully. “Well, I thought he might want it after last night.”
“Last night?” Ten presses.
“Yeah, I ran into him in the parking lot after cheer yesterday,” she admits, blushing as she drops her voice. “We were up late.”
She’s insinuating a lot more in those words, like she has a secret. My stomach fills with knots.
“What’s he like?” Lyla asks in a hushed voice, suddenly interested.
“Like an animal.” Katelyn grins. “I’m surprised I don’t have any bite marks.”
“Mmmm.” I hear Lyla’s soft coo.
Jesus Christ.
Katelyn walks away, smiling, and I do my best to act like I’m not sitting here, shattering right now. I want to believe she’s lying. He wouldn’t go for her. He’s not after a quick thrill, is he? He wanted me in the library. Me. He wouldn’t forget that. Not so soon.
But… He did say he knows where to go to get what he wants.
Like an animal. The biting, the roughness, the way his eyes and hands and mouth take what they want… She described him perfectly.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I feel nauseous.
“Well, I guess there’s something to be said for the bad ones,” Lyla muses, watching Masen climb into his truck. “And that piercing? I’ll bet it feels good. Everywhere.”
Ten squeezes my shoulder from behind, and I snap back into focus, uncurling my fingers from the wheel. My knuckles are as white as snow.
“Let’s go eat and raid my mom’s liquor before the drive-in,” he tells me. “Lyla’s driving tonight, so I’m getting wasted.”
Yeah, I don’t think I can eat.
But watching Masen take off out of the parking lot, probably going to do who-knows-who, I might just take a drink.
Friday nights at the drive-in are just an excuse for every teenager with a car in Falcon’s Well to hang out in one place. Especially since it just opened back up a few weeks ago in time for spring. The weather’s nice, there’s a concession stand with food, car stereos blast music, and I doubt even a quarter of the people here are even watching the movie tonight.
One of those stupid nouveau slasher flicks with lots of gritty pain and an ambiguous ending, I’m sure.
After dinner, I’d gone home and changed into some jean shorts and a tank top before Lyla and Ten swung by to pick me up.
Trey arrived with J.D. just as we got here, all of us parking up in the front row. They started making the rounds, going off to talk to different people and hang out, while I headed for the concession stand. My mom doesn’t let us drink our calories, so the movies is one of the only chances I get to have a Coke.
I walk inside the concession area and move down the line, grabbing a cup and filling it with ice.
“You dropped this the other night,” a smooth voice says.
I jerk my head up to see Masen, standing right at my side. Butterflies take off in my stomach.
I look down to see him holding out my inhaler and then quickly glance around, making sure no one is watching. I snatch it out of his hand and slip it into my pocket. Shit. I must’ve left it on the library floor after we…
I turn back to the soda machine, not saying anything as I fill my drink up and secure the lid.
“How’ve you been?” he asks.
But I refuse to engage. I take my drink and move down the line, grabbing a straw and flexing my jaw in anger. Images of Katelyn, half-naked with her legs wrapped around him as he lies on top of her on the backseat of his car, flood my mind. I tap the straw on the counter, trying to unsheathe it from its wrapper, but it snaps and breaks instead.
I toss it in the trash can and grab another. How could he look down at her and want her over me? How could he kiss her? Does it even matter who it is? I thought he was different.
“You heard, didn’t you?” he says, following me as I pick out candy. “I’m glad. I wanted you to hear.”
I bend down and pick up a bag of Sour Patch Kids. “No one cares what you do, loser.”
He takes a step closer. “You have a boyfriend,” he points out, shrugging. “Katelyn’s got a hell of a body, she’s good in bed…”
My fingers curl around my paper cup, the lid pops off, and Coke overflows, spilling all over my hand.
Dammit.
He snorts, and I scurry, grabbing napkins and cleaning myself up.
Good in bed? The thought of him enjoying her—touching her—makes me want to shove a rubber dick up his nose.
Asshole.
And I do not have a boyfriend. I have a prom date.
He leans in, his voice full of self-satisfaction. “You’re jealous.”
I fix the lid back on the drink, throw the soiled napkins away, and turn to him, my eyes burning. “Rocks?” I bark, changing the subject completely to avoid the one we’re on. “Dumb as a box of rocks? Are you kidding me?”
He breaks into a laugh. “It took you long enough.”
“Don’t you ever call me that again!” And then I dart my eyes to the side, seeing a couple of girls from school cast us curious glances. I lower my voice. “And I’m not jealous. I just don’t appreciate you filling me in on all your sleazy bullshit.”
He takes a step closer, putting us chest to chest with both hands on the counter at my sides, caging me in. “And I don’t like him touching you.” He scowls down at me.
He must be referring to the parking lot today when he saw Trey kiss my forehead.
I reach over and grab a popcorn box, tipping it over and shaking it to show that it’s empty. “Here you go.” I shove it at his chest. “All the fucks I give.”
And I push through his arm, taking my drink with me.
“Hey. Everything okay?” someone asks.
I look up, seeing Ten as I approach the register. I pause, seeing his gaze flash between Masen and me as he holds his silver water bottle, which I know is filled with rum and Coke.
Ignoring his question, I glance back at Masen. He tosses the popcorn box to the counter and walks toward me, holding my eyes as he glares down. I feel the heat coming off his body, but I stand tall, daring him to even try to pick another fight. He’s a jerk whose only kick in life is to make mine miserable.
He doesn’t say anything, though, and keeps walking out the doors.
After he’s gone, Ten exhales a long sigh and turns back to me. “In case you’re still trying to figure it out,” he says, “he wants you bad.”
I turn away, unable to shake the desire to go pick another fight. He wants me bad? Well, he certainly doesn’t look like he’s suffering with need. Not at all.
I pay for my drink and candy and head out of the stand with Ten. He heads for a group of guys at a conver
tible, while I walk through the cars toward Lyla’s BMW up front and try not to look for Masen. The sky is black now, but the screen is shedding lots of light, and I hear the crickets buzzing in the grass out in the distance. I spot Trey standing by his car, flirting with some girl.
Awesome.
I keep walking, but I stop when I pass a big, black truck. Masen’s.
I glance around, finding him over by his new friends, including J.D., talking and laughing. People loiter about, caught up in their conversations, and no one is looking at me. I stare at the truck, suddenly feeling inspired.
Holding back my smile, I set my drink and snack on the ground, next to the tire, and open the back door on the driver’s side, quickly climbing in. I shut the door and immediately notice how dark it is inside. I hadn’t noticed that the afternoon at the car wash. The windows must be heavily tinted.
The leather interior shines black, just like the paint on the outside, and it smells heady and rich, intoxicating, like him. I lick my lips, leaning up and opening his console between the front seats, looking for something to write with.
I sift through change, a few receipts, and some tools. I see a pen and pull it out, clicking the top to load it and scribble on my hand.
Black.
Everything in here is fucking black. Anything I write won’t show up. I dig back inside the console and my fingers curl around something long with a grip on it. I pull it out, seeing that it’s some kind of pocket knife.
My heart starts beating faster. He’s a prick, but I’m not quite sure I want to get that destructive. Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” starts playing in my head.
I pinch the groove on the dull side and unsheathe the blade, jumping when it snaps out. The curve is scary and intense, and I hold it up, studying it and wondering if I really want to leave him what’s sure to be a very expensive message.
And then I think about Katelyn straddling him on this very seat, riding him, and I want to do a lot more than just cut up his truck.
But the door suddenly opens, and I jump, seeing Masen step up and come right for me, slamming his door shut.
I gasp, tossing the knife up to the front and twist around, yanking the handle of the other door.
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