by S. Massery
I scowl. “You’re not my keeper.”
“Maybe I should be,” he snaps, twisting around in the seat. “Since you clearly can’t make rational decisions on your own.”
“You’re being insensitive.”
“What if this kidnapper is posing as a driver?”
“Hey, man, I don’t want any trouble,” the driver cuts in, scratching his neck.
I roll my eyes. “I’m sorry about him. He has no filter.”
“And you have no common sense,” Liam shoots back.
“I have common sense—you’re just paranoid.” I lean forward. “Those girls are unrelated—”
“Stop,” Whitney yells. “I can’t handle your argument.”
The driver screeches to a halt in front of our building, and Whitney flies out of the car. She doesn’t even wait for me to open my door before she’s inside and disappearing up the stairs.
“We’re here,” the driver says pointedly, glancing back at me.
I’m the train wreck in this situation?
“You’re getting two stars,” I inform him, then step onto the sidewalk.
Liam circles around the back of the car, and it pulls away in a hurry.
He raises his eyebrows at me. “Your roommate is a piece of work.”
“You’re the piece of work,” I say.
His gaze darkens. It was easy to forget in the police station and then in the car that he was the one who broke into my house. He’s roughed me up a time or two, even.
A dangerous thrill runs through me.
This is the part of my brain that’s broken: the area that detects danger and warns me away. The little voice that should be shrieking an alarm is quiet—and it has been quiet since I saw him this afternoon.
Because, what, I trust him?
Hardly.
I’m just removed from the situation. Whitney’s best friend has only been gone for a few days, and that’s nothing. Talk to me when she’s been gone a week, a month, when the fliers with her face on them are so old people start putting new ones over them. When only a small collection of people remember that those parents lost their daughter and haven’t received closure. When all the hope of finding her drains back into the ground.
“Go inside,” Liam says.
I jerk back, even though he made no move to touch me.
In my mind, I map out how the night would go: Whitney would lose her composure. The old fears would return, and maybe she’d cry. Or yell. Or talk about how awful Liam is. She wouldn’t give me any real information, and she wouldn’t say what the detectives asked.
We’re not even friends.
I went with her in solidarity, because she’s my roommate. The one person who puts up with me. But we keep even that a secret, and no one knows where she lives. That she lives with me, the outcast. The freak who snitched on Howl.
But it isn’t my company she wants up there, it’s Natalie’s. Or someone else, maybe.
I pull out my phone and text her, saying if she needs someone to keep her company… do it. Invite them. I’m past the point of caring, and I’m definitely not going to go sit and cry with her. I just can’t handle it.
Where to go, though?
11
Sky
“I’m not going inside,” I inform Liam. “I’m going to get a drink.”
He grimaces but doesn’t bother asking where I’ll find a bar to serve me. If he’s next to me, it won’t matter.
I head off down the street, shaking my hair out of its braid. It falls in loose waves around my face. I rub away some of the eyeliner that’s collected under my eyes, trying to neaten my appearance. I may be invisible, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.
He follows me down the block silently, into one of the bars around campus that features cheap mixed drinks. Actually, Whitney works here—it’s one of the reasons I even know they serve underage students. I haven’t done it in person, but she sure has talked about it enough.
I thought to bring my small purse, so at least I have money to burn.
The fact that I don’t have anyone to call to sit with me at this bar is… sad.
And a bit disappointing.
I slide onto a stool, and Liam hesitates for a second, then takes the one next to me.
“Two drinks,” he says.
“We’ll see.” I shrug.
The bartender approaches and frowns at me. Her gaze flips to Liam and melts.
“Oof,” I mutter.
“I’ll take a beer, Ari,” he says, leaning his forearms on the bar and smirking at her. “And my friend here will have a watermelon margarita.”
I jab him with my elbow. “I can order for myself.”
Ari raises her eyebrows. “You know who you just elbowed, kid?”
“Kid? Seriously.”
Liam’s smirk widens into a full, shit-eating grin. “Go ahead, baby.”
I stare at him. The baby is just a reference to me being called a kid, but heat bursts through my core. A word shouldn’t affect me like it does, but there we have it.
I’m depraved and like the way the word makes his lips move.
Sue me.
“Watermelon margarita,” I say. “Sugar rim.”
I think he hides a smile behind his hand, but I can’t be sure.
“And a shot of tequila. Silver.”
The bartender grins and nods once, setting a shot glass in front of me.
“Liam?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “Someone’s gotta hold my hair when I puke later.”
My cheeks flame, but it’s too late. It’s like I’m already drunk, because I have no control over what’s coming out of my mouth.
She pours me a shot, slides Liam’s beer to him, then steps away to make my drink.
I tap the shot glass to the counter and toss it back. It burns a path down my throat. A ball of fire radiates from my chest, then slowly dissipates.
“What’s the goal tonight?” Liam asks.
I lift one shoulder. “Is forgetting an option?”
He sneers. “I can think of better ways than drinking to forget the night.”
“Sex?” I immediately groan. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”
“But things just got interesting.” He swivels toward me, capturing my legs between his. “You fantasizing about me, Buckley?”
I narrow my eyes. “No. You?”
He smiles. “I wasn’t the one who immediately thought of sex as a way to forget what happened tonight.”
Ugh.
“Back to your goal,” he demands.
I hum and rest my chin on my fist. “I just want to not think about it. Thus the forgetting. That’s really my only plan.”
“And to not be at home with your weepy roommate?” He lifts his chin. “Do you need another shot to be more honest?”
You’re more likely to tell the truth when you’re afraid.
I’m not afraid, but I also have no idea what the truth is.
Slowly, I nod.
He catches the bartender’s attention again, and she approaches. There are only a few people at the bar tonight, but that isn’t unusual for mid-week. Fridays and Saturdays, the restaurant and bar are packed.
He points to my empty shot glass and holds up two fingers.
She nods once, sliding him a shot glass before filling both of them.
I raise mine, but he catches my wrist.
“Wait.” He picks up his glass and holds it out to me.
We cheers, tap the glasses back on the bar, and raise them to our lips. I pause right before I drink mine, though, and watch him swallow the clear liquid.
He even makes that look good.
“Is this your schtick?” I say.
Liam purses his lips. “Schtick?”
“Yeah.” I wave my hand up and down. “You know, sit too close, get the girl drunk, make a shot of tequila seem like water. Everyone knows you’re a player.”
He doesn’t respond, but his eyes narrow.
I continue, “How ma
ny girls have you been with? Thirty? Fifty? Seems like you had a different date every week in high school.”
My big fat mouth. Did I seriously just say that?
I jump off the stool and rush into the bathroom. The last time I drank didn’t end well—the night of Howl and the viral video. I swore off drinking… and here I am, getting drunk next to Liam fucking Morrison.
“Calm down,” I tell my reflection. My appearance isn’t as bad as I would’ve thought, considering the night I’ve had.
Except my minute to collect myself dissolves when the door crashes open.
Liam strides into the bathroom and heads right for me.
I swallow.
He doesn’t touch me, but he backs me against the wall nevertheless. I stare up at him, trying to read his mind. The glint in his eye is dark. Something dangerous is brewing in his mind, but he keeps it on a tight leash.
I have the inexplicable urge to take a chainsaw to that restraint… if only to see how far he’d go.
He touches my lower lip with his thumb. “A player, huh?”
I can’t move—definitely can’t speak.
“I suppose I could tell you how many girls I’ve slept with. How many of them have blown me in the dark corner of a party just because of who I am.” He lifts one shoulder, and his attention drops to my chest. “And what about you? Little Miss Perfect all the time? Untouched?”
His thumb trails down my chin, my throat, and catches on the collar of my shirt. He pulls it down, exposing the tops of my breasts and the lace bralette.
Fear and a heady rush fill me. He’s entranced by me. He took care of me today, not some random hookup or any of the girls he might’ve slept with in the past. And that drives shivers up and down my spine, and heat between my legs.
He can hate me and care about me at the same time, right?
My heart is going to explode out of my chest any minute now.
“Jealous?” I whisper.
His laugh is raspy. “Of you?”
I wait.
He’s had to fight for everything—literally—and I’ve had my future handed to me in the form of a trust fund. We’ve struggled in the past few years, my family is in tatters—hello, divorce—but I’ll come out stronger for it.
“I think you’re the one who’s jealous.” His eyes narrow. “That’s what this is. Asking about sex, freaking out about how many girls I’ve fucked? Admit it. It might make you feel better.”
I shake my head.
His hand flattens on my chest, right between my breasts. His palm is hot on my skin, my shirt open. With steady pressure, he pushes me back against the wall.
“Stop.” I try to slide to the side, but he mirrors my steps.
“Admit it, Buckley.”
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to have this conversation about my dumb childhood crush on my best friend’s brother. We’ve had that weird connection as far back as I can remember, and I don’t even know why.
“If you’re not, I’ll just take you home and then come back and pick up Ari. She’s into some kinky shit.”
My jaw drops. “You’ve slept with her?”
He shrugs. “Thought you didn’t care.” He steps back and heads for the door. “Come on, Buckley. Night’s over.”
The idea of that picture-perfect bartender doing sexual things to Liam—ants crawl over my skin.
I hate you, I tell him in my head, yet I can’t—I physically can’t let him walk out that door.
“Wait,” I call, tipping my head back. I focus on the ceiling. “I… you can’t do that.”
“Why not? Last time I checked, you weren’t my boss.”
“Because…” Damn it. I wouldn’t sleep at night—I certainly wouldn’t be able to look at him again. Be honest with the asshole. “I would be mad.”
“Because…” He saunters closer.
His thumb presses on my chin until I lower my head. I meet his steely gaze.
“I don’t know why I’d be mad,” I clarify. “It’s certainly not because I’m jealous of you.”
He snorts. “I wouldn’t think you’re jealous of me, Sky.”
Oh.
Oh.
My face bursts into flames. The searing heat of a tomato-red blush works up from my neck. It’s not an attractive look, and it always belies my poker face.
“You want to kiss me.” He doesn’t even phrase it as a question. “I made you horny but didn’t let you come. Is that what you’re craving, angel? Or did you take care of that yourself?”
How arrogant can he be?
Still, all those times I may have kept tabs on him in high school out of the corner of my eye, or watched him play lacrosse in his yard with his brother and friends (oftentimes shirtless) plays through my mind like a silent film roll. All those years, I pretended not to give a shit.
He didn’t have to pretend—but he played the hulking neighbor role perfectly. Enough to scare away any prospects of dating.
My feelings are giant and scary, and they’ll swallow me whole if I let them. Not just my stale crush on Liam, but everything else locked away, too.
So, I lie—to myself and him.
“I don’t want to kiss you,” I say.
His smirk fades, and he searches my gaze.
My chest aches.
“You’re a shit liar,” he whispers.
His hand suddenly fists the front of my shirt, and he pulls me forward. Into him. His lips crash against mine.
I gasp. I can’t help but be reminded of how the ocean pounds the cliffside—it’s an unrelenting force like the man in front of me. We go from zero to a hundred. His lips are hard and commanding, and he takes advantage of my surprise. He slips his tongue into my mouth.
Fireworks explode behind my eyelids.
I don’t ever remember being kissed like this. And suddenly, in a perverted way, I’m glad he’s had the practice. Imagine if he sucked at kissing? That would make everything awkward.
My hands, which had automatically grabbed his wrist, now loosen.
Liam’s teeth graze my lower lip. Little flutters of pain zip through me, and I dig my nails into his forearms.
The door creaks, and a girl says, “You can’t do that in here.”
I push Liam away from me and sag against the wall. Ari stands in the entrance with her arms crossed, glaring at me. Me! Like I’m the one who initiated… okay, I suppose I had it coming.
I subtly wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. It comes back with a streak of pink. I probe my lip with my tongue, suppressing my frown.
Liam winks at me and slings an arm around my shoulders, cinching me into his side.
“No problem,” he says to Ari. “We were just headed out anyway.”
“I didn’t finish my margarita,” I whisper. “And we didn’t pay.”
Ari follows us down the hall, past the bar and all the way to the door. I get the distinct impression that she’s sour about catching us—more for the fact that what Liam had said earlier was true: she would go home with him if he asked.
“I paid already,” he tells me.
That doesn’t explain away the margarita, though.
He propels me outside, and an icy blast hits us. I shiver, stepping closer to Liam, and he guides me down the road. A few blocks later, we stop at another brownstone. It appears to be a lot like mine, except a bit fancier. There’s a front garden, and someone put out pumpkins on either side of the stairs.
I glance around. “You live here?”
“Charitable donation from Theo,” he mutters. “Not fancy enough for you?”
“Seems a little too fancy for you,” I reply.
He chuckles. “Friends in high places, Buckley. Remember that next time you want to sabotage me.”
Ugh.
He motions for me to go up the stairs.
“I should go home,” I weakly protest.
“To your crying roommate? Or to sit alone in your room?” He rolls his eyes. “Sure, be my guest.”
I throw my s
houlders back. I’m tempted to do it, just to follow through with the bluff.
The idea of going back to my apartment now of all times sits on my shoulders like a wet blanket… so I push it aside.
“Never mind.” I trot up the steps and stand beside the door, waiting for him to unlock it.
He stops right next to me, close enough that I could imagine warming myself on his body heat. His frame blocks the wind, at least.
“After you,” he says.
I enter.
The door slams behind us. I need to not freak out at every decision I make. I definitely need to not overthink this. Nothing’s going to happen in his apartment…
He mentioned something about me being untouched, which is a bit dramatic. I’ve been touched. Just not with any sort of finesse, and definitely not by anyone who gave a damn about what I felt.
One of the cheerleaders, Amelie, made a point to coach the girls on oozing sexuality. It wasn’t forced—she wasn’t even a captain when I joined—but the cheerleaders were expected to flirt with the athletic boys.
The first party we went to, one of the football boys groped me. He kissed my neck and palmed my breast, and I was too in shock, too drunk, to do anything about it.
He showed up to school the next day with a broken nose and two black eyes, mumbling about how he fell getting home the night prior. A week later, he was kicked off the football team.
Boys avoided me after that. And then I was kicked off the team—apparently, thanks to Liam. Because I would’ve been a distraction.
Whatever that means.
“This one,” Liam says, grabbing my arm.
I would’ve walked right by his door. Lost in my thoughts.
Head in the clouds.
Sky’s head in the clouds. Can you see the stars up there?
I jolt, jerking out of his grip. My eyes can’t possibly open any wider. It felt like someone whispered that in my ear. I haven’t heard it in so long, the voice is almost a stranger’s. But I’m pretty sure Liam has said that to me before.
I just can’t place when.
He regards me carefully. “You okay?”
I shake it off. “Fine. Do I seem not fine?”
“You look like you might pass out.”
“Oh, that. Nope, totally normal. Just wondering if you’re hiding handcuffs in there. If that’s like, your master plan. Get me to go willingly into your house and then lock me up forever. What a way to keep a girl safe, right?” I’m babbling.