by Angel Lawson
26
Eden
There’s not much time to wallow on what I’d heard in the alley back in Kingston, although once we’re back on campus and I can get the boys together, I tell them what I heard.
“Seems like Trip doesn’t want another beating, so he’s shifted from bullying us to Dorian,” I say, once they’re caught up.
“We’ve always known Trip is an evil asshole—not an idiot,” Gray says, dropping to the couch. Theo sits next to him, his jaw set in a grim line, and Hawk hovers near the door with his arms crossed over his chest like he’s physically holding in his emotions.
“How do we want to handle this?” Theo asks.
“We need to tell Dorian,” I say.
“We can tell Dorian,” Hawk says. “You need to stay the hell away from him.”
“He’s my counselor, too, Hawk. It’s reasonable for me to talk to him.” We glare at one another, but his eyes are soft. We both know I’m defensive because what he said is true.
He walks over to me and rests his hands on my shoulders. “I know you hate stepping away from a fight, but you may need to let us handle this one.”
“Trip is such a monster.”
“And he knows that you are the weakness of every K-Boy at Sparrowood, including Dorian.”
My heart flutters when he says it, but I keep my face stoic. Confirmation that what I sense between me and Dorian is real. I glance at Theo and Gray and they look unaffected, as though it’s common knowledge and not something that’s about to knock me off my feet.
“Dorian and I…” I say, feeling the need to clarify.
“Are close,” Hawk says, “and Trip knows it.”
“Fine, then how do you want to handle this?”
“We’ll talk to Dorian. You figure out what’s going on with the girls and this contest. The more evidence we have, the faster we can shut it down—hopefully before they do anything to Dorian.”
“There’s one catch, Princess,” Gray says, eyeing me from the couch. “No secrets. If something dangerous is happening or Trip crosses a line, you let us know.”
I nod. “I will. Promise.”
The situation between us is a million times different than it was last time. We’re bonded by sweat and soul. I trust them with everything, and I think I’ve earned that in return.
It’s obvious when I walk into detention the next day that the guys spoke to Dorian. He nods when I enter, but quickly averts his gaze to the paperwork on his desk. After a few minutes he sends me and Hawk off to the kitchen.
“Florence is out sick,” the lady tells us. She tosses an apron at each of us. “It’s mashed potato night.”
She points to a massive crate of brown potatoes on the floor.
“You want us to peel those?” I ask. “All of them?”
“Yep, and I suggest you move fast if you don’t want a riot at dinner.”
I loop the apron over my head and wrap the tie around my waist. Hawk does the same, although he looks like a giant wearing a child’s apron. Where I can wrap the tie around my body, his only goes to the back. He fumbles and looks at me helplessly.
I shake my head and walk around to his back, taking the strings in my hand. I admire his backside for a minute. The school pants fit him really, really nicely.
“I don’t hear peeling!” the cafeteria lady shouts from the front of the kitchen.
I stifle a laugh, tie the knot, and pat him on the ass. “Good to go.”
He raises an eyebrow at my cheekiness, but I’m tired of being on edge all the time. “Now use those muscles and dump those potatoes on the table.”
I pick up the first potato and start scraping off the skin. I’m not exactly proficient, most of our food at home coming from a box or can, but Hawk reveals a skill set I didn’t know he possessed.
“How have you peeled ten potatoes in the time it took me to do three?” I ask, eyeing his growing pile. A long spiral of brown skin curls on the table.
“This isn’t my first time on kitchen duty, Princess.” He reaches for another one and starts again. “Detention. Foster care. Group homes. It’s all the same. They think working in the kitchen builds character.”
“Or keeps your hands busy,” I say, noting the quick proficiency. I used to think of hands and fingers as being utilitarian. Now I understand that length and dexterity are useful for other acts as well. Hawk has excellent dexterity.
“They definitely wanted to keep me busy. Idle hands and all that.” He takes the peeler and potato from me. “Look, start here. Hold the blade at an angle and drag it toward you. Remember to move the potato, not the tool.”
He shows me slowly, providing an example of what he means, and I watch with slight fascination at how easily the skin comes off. He hands them back. “You try it.”
I start at the top, angling the blade and pull toward me. I dig in too deep and start over again, this time getting a small curl of skin.
“Good,” he says, giving me an encouraging smile, “now do that seven hundred more times.”
I focus on my peeling and sure enough, over time I get a little better. He’s still way faster than me, thankfully, or we’d be here all night.
“I have a hard time seeing you sticking around for this kind of work in a foster home.”
“Why do you think I was on the streets so much?” he asks. “If they couldn’t find me, they couldn’t put me to work.”
“Did you get in trouble? Did your foster parents punish you and stuff?”
He adds another potato to the pile. “I spent most of the time in trouble one way or the other, but I didn’t like living in other people’s houses and usually they didn’t really like me living there either. Most were short term.”
“Our situation was the opposite. We moved into that crappy apartment as a temporary arrangement and never got out. It was like we were in quicksand, the harder we fought, the more mired we were.”
He peels his last potato, drops it on the pile and takes the one I’m struggling with from me. “We all did what we had to escape.”
We made this deal.
Mom went to rehab.
Hope took off with Tyson.
There is no doubt in my mind that even with all the drama and hurt, we ended up in the better place.
He bends over and brushes his lips over mine, confirming he’s thinking the same thing.
“You finished back here?”
“Coming right up!” Hawk calls, wiping his hands on his apron and picking up two buckets of potatoes. I watch him go, getting an eyeful of his bulging muscles and fantastic ass.
Yeah, even with the drama and pain, we’re in the better place.
“You’re having a party and we’re not invited?” Gray pouts, puffing out his ridiculously tempting lips.
“It’s not about you,” Rochelle says, licking an ice cream cone. “We’re trying to get some of the younger girls to come so we can spy on them.”
We’re out on the patio after lunch and I’m breaking the news to the guys that we’re having a girls-only party.
“If you want other girls to come to your party, then you should definitely invite us,” he says. “Or just me. I’m pretty popular with the ladies.”
I squeeze his thigh under the table. High on his thigh. He clamps his legs shut and shouts, “Hey! Careful.”
“You better only be popular with one lady,” I whisper. “Or I won’t be careful next time at all.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. I narrow my eyes in warning.
“Anyway,” Rochelle says, “we’ll be hosting a little event that’s just for the girls, so you guys need to stay away tonight.”
It’s Friday and the dance we’re chaperoning is tomorrow night. We figure tonight may be perfect for a little pre-gaming. Or Rochelle did. I’m still trying to figure out what pre-gaming is.
“We’ll invite them over, offer them a few drinks and snacks, talk about what they’re going to wear, offer makeup and hair advice, that kind of thing.”
Hawk nods. “Sounds good to me.”
“Crap. I left my earphones in the computer lab.” I make a face. “Guess I need to run up there and get them before my next class.”
I grab my trash and throw it away. I’m about to open the back door when a hand beats me to it.
“I’ll come with you,” Gray says, pulling it open with one hand and resting his other on my lower back. It’s possessive. Thrilling, and what had been a show of force at one point is now something else entirely. I no longer have to pretend I’m not really attracted to Gray or the other guys, I just have to keep it together until we’re alone.
“So,” he says as we walk through the dining hall doors and into the hallway, “you realize I was kidding out there about other girls, right?”
My skin warms at his admission.
I tilt my head innocently. “I’m sure you’ve had the opportunity. You don’t seem like the type to resist temptation.”
We pass by an empty classroom. Gray stops short and jerks me inside, the door slamming behind us. He secures me against the door, one hand flat beside my head. “What I have is a raging boner twenty-four-seven because of you. I am ridiculously turned on all the damn time.”
“There’s a lot of short skirts at this school.” I’m teasing him. Not only can I feel the bulge in his pants, I sense him watching me all the time. I dream about his mouth and tongue.
“Not interested.”
He kisses me under my ear, then bites my earlobe. Slowly an idea starts to bloom.
“What if you were interested?”
He looks at me, eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”
“What if,” I run my hand down his chest, “you were interested in a younger girl. One that doesn’t want to share any details about this contest she’s participating in.”
“Not happening, Princess. One-woman man.” His hands slip under my skirt, under my panties. “I am not playing with that kind of fire, even if you’re instigating it.”
“Come on,” I say. “You’re a flirt. All the girls at school like you. You’re friendly. You could probably get out of Emma what would take a roll of duct tape and a trip to the swimming pool for me.”
“That’s not even a funny joke.”
“Gray.”
He stares at me. “Eden.”
“Just think about it.”
“I won’t,” he says, running his fingers between my legs, “because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
And I stop thinking about it too, for the moment, because Gray is very, very good at what he does and how he makes me feel. There will be time to talk him into helping me out later.
27
Eden
“Since Mr. Miller asked us to chaperone the dance, we thought it’d be awesome to get together beforehand,” Rochelle says to the group of girls in the room. We’d hand-picked them, culling through the girls in the grade, making sure they all are wearing the sparrow pin on their collar. “I’m Rochelle, senior, obviously. And you know our resident RBF, Eden. She’s not as intimidating as she appears.”
“RBF?” I whisper to Morgan.
“Resting Bitch Face.”
I shrug. “That’s fair.”
We’d invited Morgan and Stella, both cheerleaders and not quite as controversial as me and Ro. Most of the girls seem excited to be here, although there’s one noticeable absence: Emma.
Because she lost her pin and therefore wasn’t invited. On purpose.
Rochelle is still welcoming our guests. “Stella’s painting nails over by the coffee table, Morgan is a whiz at makeup, and I’ll be available for dress and accessory consultations.”
“What about Eden?” one of the girls asks. She’s tiny with sharp cheekbones, and thick, full lips. She’s like a living Bratz doll. I bet Trip fantasizes about her all day and night.
“Eden’s playing bartender tonight, you want a drink? See her.”
I head over to the “bar,” or rather the kitchen counter, and start doling out cups of punch. I feel a little guilty giving these girls a drink, but we made it weak, have a limited amount, and frankly I need information and the looser they are, the more they may tell us.
Rochelle sends everyone to their stations and with music playing, things go more smoothly than I imagined. Ro has a better grasp on social scenarios than I ever could. I feel like an odd, sore thumb with a ladle in my hands. Most of the girls eye me curiously. Why wouldn’t they? I’m the girl that gave Trip a blow job that the whole school saw on video. I’m the girl with three boyfriends, all who beat the crap out of Trip publicly. I’m the girl with the crazy roommate, the one that almost drowned, that dethroned the queen bee. I’m either a threat or some kind of urban legend.
And something about those little pins tell me they either want to eliminate me or be the next me.
I’m here to tell them that no, no they don’t. It’s time to just stop.
But I have to earn their trust first and unfortunately, I’m running out of time. So here I am, handing out alcohol to younger girls while they get their nails painted and brag about their thousand-dollar dresses for the dance.
“Can I have a cup?”
I look across the punch bowl. It’s the girl from earlier with the thick lips. Her eyebrows are perfectly sculpted, and one curves into an arch.
“Sure.” I ladle one out into a pink party cup. “What’s your name?”
“Riley.”
“I’m Eden.”
“Yeah,” she says, taking a sip of the weak, sugary punch, “I know.”
I muster up my social side. “Are you excited about the dance?”
“Yeah, I guess. My dress is pretty amazing. It has a leather bodice and this short, puffy skirt. Very retro.”
“Sounds like it.” I take a sip of my own drink, which happens to be water. “Do you have a date?”
She laughs. “No, no dates.”
I frown. “No one?”
“Nope.”
“The guys in your class didn’t ask anyone?” It’s sophomores only, which means no older or younger dates are invited. I could see that causing a problem if someone had a boyfriend or a girlfriend in a different grade, but something seemed off.
“No one wants to be seen with a sophomore. Older guys are hotter.” She looks at me. “Like your guys.”
Irrational possessiveness rears inside of me and I consider punching her in the puffy mouth. But I control myself. My guys are hotter. I just shrug. “They’re my age, and they were cute when we were all younger, too.”
“Did you like them then?”
I laugh. “No. Not at all.”
“Because they were immature, right? That’s how the guys are in our grade. They’re so lame. They’re either playing video games or fumbling under our skirts. The older boys, they have experience. They know how to put in a little effort.”
I think of Trip and his minions, Adam, Phillip, and Mitch. Any effort they put in is for their own sexual or financial gain.
“You do realize the older guys are very good at manipulating people, right?” I struggle over my next statement, but say it anyway, “They’re just like your classmates. They want the same thing—sex. They’re just smoother about how they demand it.”
Something flickers in her eyes. Doubt maybe, but before I can pursue it, my roommate stands on the couch and says, “Okay everyone! It’s time for a game!”
“A game?” I say, already wanting to leave the room. No one said anything about games.
“Yep,” Ro says, with a wide grin. “Get ready for a round of Truth or Dare!”
28
Gray
“I’m going to run down to the kitchen and get some drinks,” I say to Theo as the kids roll into our suite. Word spread quickly about our little tournament. He grunts, already deeply focused on the game, but Hawk’s ey
es cut my way and he nods in acknowledgement.
The truth is, against all my better judgement, I’d finally agreed to help the Princess with her covert operation. Yes, I’m looking for Emma. No, I’m not looking for trouble.
I’d spent years as a ghost, trying to be invisible in group homes, crimes, and detention. I’m the master of blending in when I want to, slipping in and out of locked doors, private quarters and girls' bedrooms. Well, one girl.
The only reason I’m doing this is because she asked, because she trusts me. I am an admitted flirt. With the staff and teachers, male and female, but now that my heart belongs to Eden, I keep my hands to myself.
Eden had wondered if she’d make a move on Dorian while everyone else was occupied. When I can’t find her anywhere in the dorms, I head downstairs to the lounge. Trip and his minions have the area occupied, bent over a laptop. Denise is snuggled up to his side.
I casually walk over to the soda machine and slip in a dollar bill.
“What are you doing down here, Mathers? Thought you had a circle-jerk to attend to night.”
“I let them get started without me,” I say, punching in the button for the drink I want, “you know, get there for the climax and all that.”
“I always knew you were a lazy bastard.”
I pop the tab and the carbonation fizzles. “And I never thought you’d be one to do homework on a Friday night.” I gesture to the laptop where I can see a spreadsheet. “Failing something?”
Denise snaps the laptop shut. “None of your goddamn business.”
I hold my hands up. “Chill out, sweetheart, I’m not interested in your algebra.”
Obviously, I am, but Eden’s working on this side of the equation. My job is finding Emma and she isn’t here.
“I’ll let you get back to your homework,” I say. “I’ve got some sophomore ass to kick upstairs.”