All For You (Boys of the South)

by Marquita Valentine

  The Japanese Steakhouse has been open for as long as I’ve lived here, and there are three more in Charlotte. Of course, one of West’s friend’s parents owns it, and of course, they live in the same neighborhood. All but one of West’s friends lives in The Oaks. It’s like rich, preppy kids attract other rich, preppy kids.

  Maybe it’s in the water. Whatever it is, I’m not drinking or buying anything West’s offering.

  “You look good,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts. “I like the boots.”

  I glance down at my shoes. “They’re my favorite pair.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Oh crap. I’ve just entered small talkville. I do not want to make small talk with him. Small talk leads to later-in-the-night inside jokes. Despite our earlier flirting that was saved by the green light, I don’t want any of this. I don’t trust him.

  Worse, I don’t trust myself.

  “McKenzie?”

  “Red’s my favorite color.”

  “What a coincidence, mine’s blue.”

  I make a face. “How’s that a coincidence?” Then it hits me, the little jokes have already started. “Very funny.”

  “So funny you forgot to laugh?”

  I exhale, once again wishing I’d never agreed to this. Wishing I’d told my dad what happened, wishing I’d told Julia about my date tonight and brought her along as a third wheel. God, that would have been perfect.

  But no, instead I got all nervous, excited, and embarrassed about tonight.

  “I agreed to one date, but I didn’t agree to talk to you, or laugh at your lame jokes.” I’m a shrew. A harpy, even. But I can’t care, because there’s no way I’m going to make the same mistake twice with him. I refuse to give him a second chance. He’ll just have to deal with it.

  “So I’m wasting my time.” His mouth tightens and his knuckles turn white against the steering wheel. “Damn it, McKenzie, that’s not fair—”

  “Not fair?” I snap. How dare he take a self-righteous tone with me or complain about the way I’m acting or not acting. “What’s not fair is the way you treated me. What’s not fair is the way you slept with me, lied to me about how special I was to you, how sorry you were for everything, and then acted like I didn’t even exist the next day.” My voice is rising and he’s pulling into the parking lot of Tanaka’s and parking away from the other cars. “What’s not fair is that for the first time in three years, I wanted you to make fun of me, to call me lawn girl… anything.”

  My voice breaks and tears are running down my face. All I want to do is run from him, but I can’t, not until I get it all out.

  He stares at me, his face drawn tight, but not saying a word. How can he say a word? How can he possibly defend himself?

  He hasn’t, a voice inside my head reminds me. He’s done nothing but own up to what he did to you. I ignore the weak part of me, that seventeen-year-old girl who wants nothing but answers and love from the boy who broke her heart.

  “But you didn’t. You saw right through me. Worse, you told Charlie and all of your crew. Then they took over. I was cornered, assaulted, and called names worse than you could ever dream up while you just stood there, like a coward, doing nothing. Nothing. I didn’t even go my senior prom because of you. I stayed at home, acting like a bitch to my dad because he couldn’t understand why I wasn’t going and I couldn’t tell him.” Unbuckling my seatbelt, I fling open the passenger side door, grab my purse, and get out. “So excuse me, if I have no sympathy for our date not going how you envisioned.”

  I slam the door, the tightness in my chest squeezing in on me. I can’t breathe and have to lean against his car. Sobs burst from me, my entire body racked with them. I’m tired of being strong, of telling no one, and the one person I confessed to is my former tormentor.

  I barely register the sound of his door opening or the crunch of his boots against the pavement. All I know is that in my next heartbeat, he’s pulling me into his arms and holding me, not saying a word. Not asking for my forgiveness or giving me excuses.

  “I hate you,” I sob. “I hate you for making me trust you. I hate you for making my life miserable.”

  His response is to only hold me tighter, mold me against him and stroke my back, my hair, and… just hold me.

  “I hate you,” I whisper into his chest. “And I hate myself even more for allowing you to do it to me.”

  He crooks his finger under my chin, gently pulling it up so I have to look at him. The lights in the parking lot are so bright that I can see the harsh beauty of his face. I can see the fullness of his lips, his high cheekbones, and the tears in his eyes.

  I blink up at him through wet, spiky lashes. “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not, but I’m pretty fucking close to losing it,” he says gruffly. He takes my face in both his hands and leans his forehead against mine. “You’re so strong, you know that?”

  “I’m not. I weak,” I disagree. “I’m on a date with the guy who tormented me for years and—”

  “No, baby, you are so strong. So damned strong I’m in awe of you.” He lifts his head, staring off into the distance. “You want to know what started all of this? What really lit a fire under my ass to make things right with you?”

  I do and I don’t. I don’t want his pity, but I do want to know what compelled him to be here.

  “There was this guy, a freshman. His name was Brian Locke. I’d talked to him once or twice. Right after Fall Break our resident advisor found him in his room. He’d—he’d hung himself.”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. I’m equal parts horrified and sad for Brian and his family.

  “That’s not the worse part though.”

  How could someone’s life, gone in an instant, not be the worst part? “It’s not?”

  “No one noticed until his… room began to smell.” He fixes his gaze on me. “For six days, no one noticed he was missing. Six. Days. He’d left a note behind, and it practically chronicled his entire childhood of being bullied. But what made him feel like he had no way out—his ex-girlfriend told his parents that he was gay before he could.”

  Our breaths mingle together. White puffs of air in the silence.

  “After that, one of the Christian groups on campus joined up with the LBGQT group and held a vigil for Brian. I went to it, McKenzie, and I stood there and listened as person after person talked about being bullied, what it did to them, and how they were coping. And each time, all I saw was your face up there, your words being spoken, your tears…your heartache, and I knew I had to do more than just apologize. I had to make sure you were okay, because I couldn’t have that on my conscience anymore.”

  “I’m okay,” I say, more for my benefit than his. “But I’m not going to lie to you and say that I never felt like Brian—that by the end of our senior year never waking up again seemed like a really good option.”

  His face pales, eyes widening a fraction, before he lets out a stream of curses.

  I press a finger to his lips, my entire being, my soul, and my heart softening toward him and his obvious pain, even as heat leaps between us. “But I didn’t,” I remind him. He gently pulls my finger away. “And I can’t say why I didn’t and why Brian did.”

  “Yeah, but I made your life hell.”

  I can’t have that on my conscience anymore. Suddenly it hits me—West didn’t come here because I was hurting. He came here because he felt bad. He felt guilty. Going to Brian’s vigil had given him a conscience that he’d never had before, or at least never listened to before now.

  This wasn’t about me. It was all about Weston Diaz.

  Just like always.

  Chapter Six

  West

  “Ready to eat?” McKenzie says brightly, as if I didn’t just pour out my heart to her. As if we hadn’t just shared a moment while she’d allowed me to comfort her, even as she sobbed out her hatred of me.

  Confused as hell, I agree, holding out my hand. She eyes it, like I’m offering her a poisoned app
le, and then takes it. Before I can say another word, she plows ahead, almost dragging me along.

  “Stop,” I demand, right before we get to the entrance. “Stop and tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Halting in the middle of the parking lot, she tilts her head to one side, hair falling over one shoulder. Pretty eyes are wide with innocence. “We’re on a date, and getting ready to go inside.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “What I know is that as soon as this sorry excuse for a date is over that I’ll go back to my old life and you’ll go back to yours, absolved of guilt.”

  “One date with you will absolve me from years of—” I suck in air. Son of a bitch.

  She smiles, blinding bright and fake. “Sure it will.” Tugging on my hand, she jerks her head toward the door. “Ready?”

  “No.”

  “A bit too much to be seen with Lawn Girl in a public place?”

  “No, damn you.” This is all wrong. “Tell me what to do, McKenzie. Tell me what to do to make-”

  “You feel better,” she finishes for me. Her hand is still in mine, but there’s an ocean between us at the moment.

  “I don’t give a good damn about feeling better. I want you to feel better,” I shout at her.

  She flinches. People waiting in line for their buzzer to go off in the parking lot get quiet and stare at us. Some I know, a couple I don’t. I could give two shits about what any of them think right now.

  “Tell me what to do.” I fall to my knees and look up at her, arms stretched wide and palms up. “Is this what you want? Is this where you want me? I’m down on my knees for you, telling the entire world that I’m sorry. I screwed up and screwed you over, for years, all because I wanted you to notice me. I wanted you to want me like I wanted you. An asinine reason, but it’s there, it’s real.”

  “Get up,” she hisses, but once again, tears are in her eyes. “This isn’t funny.”

  “You’re right. It isn’t funny. It’s a damn shame that no one defended you, not the teachers or other students. It was you versus all of us.”

  “Enough,” she pleads. “I can’t take anymore.”

  I dig into my pocket and pull out the keys. “Take them.”

  “Why?”

  “Leave me here on my knees in front of everyone.”

  “No.”

  Closing my eyes, I throw my keys across the parking lot, and then open them. “Then you leave me with no choice.” I shrug out of my coat, then pull my shirt up and over my head. My St. Benedictine medallion hits my chest, the chain cooling against my skin. I hear whispering and a few calls of my name. My hands go to my pants, unbuttoning the top button.

  “Are you taking off all of your clothes?” McKenzie asks, her voice shaky and slightly high pitched.

  I nod. “This is your chance to get back at me.” I finish unbuttoning my jeans, the cold air washing over my back and chest and hitting my hips as I pull them lower. “Laugh at me, point at me, and talk about how little my junk is. Say I suck in bed and leave me here.”

  Her lower lip trembles. “I don’t want to get back at you.” She takes my hand and tugs lightly. I refuse to move. “Please, West. Humiliating you doesn’t solve anything.”

  Only her please could get me to stop. I stand, my heart racing like I’ve just played three-on-two for an entire period without a break, as her hands go to the waistband of my jeans. She re-buttons them, then grabs my shirt and pulls it over my head, dressing me like I am a child.

  I swear that this is the most intimate moment of my life, standing in the parking lot of a restaurant while the girl I’ve been in love with for years saves me from willingly humiliating myself.

  Then she does the unexpected, she takes my face in her hands and instead of the slap I deserve, she kisses me.

  My hands hover over her shoulders, wanting to touch her, wanting to take control of this kiss, but I don’t. This is her moment.

  Her lips move under mine and I follow her lead. She presses small kisses to the side of my mouth, her tongue skimming the seam of my lips. Unable to stop myself, I part my lips, and that sweet tongue of hers glides inside, meeting mine.

  With a groan, I deepen the kiss and finally settle my hands on the curves of her waist. I fit her against me, molding her body to mine, so that not even the cold December air can come between us. Our tongues tangle as we taste each other, as we remember how the other likes to be kissed.

  I’m coming undone, all from this kiss. My body wants her, my dick is straining to get inside her. Images, sights, and sounds from our intertwined past bombard me. She’d been hot, sweet, tight, and passionate.

  And loud, so damn loud that I almost came from listening to her moans and words while I ate her out.

  “Get a room,” I hear one of my buddies from high school call out.

  McKenzie pulls away first, her cheeks flushed. I press another kiss to her closed mouth, then the tip of her nose. “That was a hell of a kiss.”

  She nods. “I’m not hungry,” she says.

  “Do you want to go home?”

  “No.”

  Relief, so palpable that I can taste it, buzzes through me, heightening my need for her. “Do you want to go somewhere else… with me, where we can be alone?”

  One heartbeat, two, then three, and about a million more before she answers. “Yes.”

  Chapter Seven

  McKenzie

  I think I just made the biggest mistake of my life by agreeing to go anywhere else with West. As we search for his keys in the waning light, I sneak glances at him. He’s using his phone’s flashlight app, his brows drawn together as he looks for a black key fob.

  “Got it,” he say, throwing them in the air and catching them in one hand.

  Before I can say anything, he grabs me, his hand cupping the back of my neck and kisses me. “Still want to go?”

  I nod, even as my head is screaming for me to say no.

  “My house or yours?”

  “Mine,” I say firmly. It’s safer territory, since I can make him leave when I want.

  West gives me a faint smile, as if he knew I’d pick that location. “Want to get some take-out?”

  “Pizza’s good.”

  “Delivery?”

  “Okay.”

  He throws me the key fob and I catch it. It’s silver with the Porsche Insignia at the bottom “You drive and I’ll call.”

  I look at the keys, then back at him. “I can’t drive your car.”

  “If you can drive a bulldozer, then you can drive a Porsche.”

  “Because a bulldozer is exactly like a luxury sports car.”

  West opens the driver’s side door and gestures for me to get in. “I trust you with my car.”

  I slide inside, and then put my hand over my heart. “Does this mean we’re going steady, Bobby?”

  He gives me an odd look, and I want to die. My goofball humor doesn’t make me look tough, and I need to be tough, not a goofball. “I’ll be happy to pin you anytime, Betty.”

  “Betty? Seriously?”

  “As a heart attack, Meadow.” He winks at me, and I melt into the leather seat. I’ve never had a guy wink at me, not like that.

  I wrinkle my nose. “Don’t call me Meadow.” Only my mother called me by my middle name.

  “Clover Patch?”

  “Don’t think so, Northeast.”

  He laughs, one hand on the door and the other on the roof as he leans down. “Damn, girl. I never knew you were like this.”

  “That’s because you were too busy laughing at me to be able to laugh with me,” I remind him.

  His laughter fades away, the mood broken, as he straightens. “Pepperoni, or all the way?”

  “Cheese.” I stare at the dashboard while he closes the door. I hear him get in, make the call, and then silence reigns.

  Pressing down on the brake, I search for the ignition, key fob in hand. “How do I start your car, and where’s the key?”

  Instead of answer
ing me, West leans over to fasten my seatbelt, disengages the brake, and presses a button. He turns his head, face inches from mine. “Anything else?”

  Heat arcs between us, sizzling and potent. He’s so close that all I’d have to do is lean forward only the tiniest bit, and I’d touch him. His air becomes mine as I breathe him in.

  I lift my hand, fingers going to his face, tracing his lips like he’s done to me in the past. They part, a silent invitation that I want to answer.

  “I want to be with you, McKenzie, but I’m not going to force this. You want me, then I’m your man.” He draws back a little. “Until then, I’ll sit on my side of the car and wait.”

  By the time we get back to my house, I’m a mess. I can’t stop thinking about our kiss, our almost kiss, and the way he said, I’m your man.

  Do all women have a weakness for bad boys that know just what to say at just the right moment? Or is this confined solely to lonely girls like me?

  There’s only one light on in the house, over the kitchen sink. My dad always leaves that on when he goes out for the night. It lets me know that he’ll be home late.

  “Where’s your dad?” West says, making himself at home on the couch. He grabs the remote and manages to find the one station broadcasting a soccer game.

  “Poker night.” Careful to not sit to close, I join him, leaning to the side to switch on the closest lamp. “Is the game happening right now?”

  “Rerun. Greatest plays.” He turns down the volume and shrugs out of his coat, then stretches his arm across the back of the cushions. “The pizza should be here soon.”

  I nod, placing my hands in my lap. I have no idea what to do next, what to say next, because this is the first date I’ve ever been on. It’s not that I haven’t been asked out, because I have, but I always say no, because all I ever think is the guy only wants to see what he can get from me, before moving on to the next girl. The better girl. The one who doesn’t have soil under her nails, or calluses on her hands in the summer.

  Lawn girl.