Why I Loathe Sterling Lane

by Ingrid Paulson

  “I didn’t mean to topple you,” he murmured, looking down at me and never breaking eye contact. “But it won’t help our cause if he sees us.”

  “I still feel bad about this,” I said. “I mean, spying on Cole. It doesn’t seem right.”

  I meant it—the guilt about Cole. But I also couldn’t help noting that Sterling still hadn’t moved away, and neither had I.

  “We don’t have any choice. Necessity is the mother of immorality.”

  “I think you mean the mother of invention.”

  “Do I?” He grinned. “If someone is starving to death, they don’t invent a machine to suppress their appetite. They lie, cheat, or steal to get dinner.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said, but he pressed his index finger against my lips, shushing me. I grabbed his hand away, because he didn’t get to shush me, but once I clasped it, I didn’t want to let it go.

  “The only thing these walls keep out is light,” he whispered, glancing down at our interlocked fingertips. “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve overheard from five feet that way.” One eyebrow arched as he pointed toward his room. “Or that way.” He shifted his gaze toward the door, making sure we both remembered the afternoon Parker tried to kiss me.

  “Why do you keep bringing that up?” I hissed, “It wasn’t my fault he tried to kiss me.”

  His eyebrow arched. “No, not at all your fault. But why else did you think a boy would lure you into his bedroom and close the door?”

  “You’re saying I was asking for it?” I was utterly shocked that anyone in this day and age could be so arcane.

  “Of course not. Just letting you know something about guys. Use it how you will.”

  An awareness had stirred to life inside me after the incident on Sterling’s armchair—the same awareness that lingered in Sterling’s expression as he studied me. But I didn’t know how to do it—how to communicate in this language I hadn’t known existed until the other day.

  There was a sharp knock on the door, and I jumped. But it wasn’t us being summoned—it was Cole.

  An instant later, low, muffled voices erupted from Cole and Sterling’s room. Sterling stepped away, releasing me into the cold, lonely air. He settled on the floor, long legs stretched out in front of him, and pulled out his phone. He motioned me over, and I didn’t have any choice but to join him. The screen was so small I had to lean in closer—close enough that my side was pressed against his. It sent another jolt of electric adrenaline shooting through me, so I shifted closer still, letting my arm settle along his thigh. There was really nowhere else to put it. He stilled, a stutter in his breath as he exhaled, long and slow.

  Sterling had positioned his laptop perfectly so we had a view of the entire room. The moment Gilbert arrived, Cole paced around like he always did when he was nervous. Whereas Gilbert perched on Cole’s desk chair, looking like a king on his throne.

  “The game is this Friday, Cole,” Gilbert said. “Enough stalling. You know this is the only way you’ll be able to pay back what you owe.”

  “I only owe money because you screwed up,” Cole replied. “It’s awfully convenient we were winning so much when it was ten dollars here and there, but the minute it’s real money, we lose.” Cole tipped his head to the side, and I was so proud of my brother for standing up for himself, even as I was horrified at what he was confessing. “I’d hate to think you were setting me up.”

  I nudged Sterling with my elbow, surprised that I could do so while barely moving an inch. I’d subconsciously crept closer while watching Cole. “None of this is incriminating—they could be talking about anything.”

  “Shh,” Sterling whispered. “Be patient.”

  I could smell his cologne, crisp and citrusy—a disturbingly alluring scent. I let my head settle against his shoulder. Again, he stilled and I reveled in this newfound power I had over him.

  “I’m not throwing a game,” Cole said, moving closer until he was firing the words right in Gilbert’s face.

  “I’m not asking you to,” Gilbert said, an unmistakable flash of malice in his eyes. “I’m asking you to give up a few points here and there. You’ll still win, just not by quite as much. It’s no big deal. Pretend you’re sick, not playing quite up to par. The team won’t know the difference.”

  “But I will,” Cole replied. “That’s point-shaving. And I won’t do it.”

  “Call it whatever you want, Cole. You don’t have a choice.”

  “I might have been gullible enough to believe you were trying to help me before,” Cole replied. “But I get what you’re doing, trying to corner me. And this ends here. Today.”

  I squeezed Sterling’s wrist in excitement. This was exactly the kind of footage we needed.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Sterling said. I looked up at him, and my gaze lingered. We were shoulder to shoulder on the rug. His arm was extended backward, behind me, supporting his weight but also curled around my back in something disturbingly similar to a half embrace. He glanced over and our eyes collided. That fluttery feeling in my insides was back, but this time it roared forward into a full-blown tremor as I leaned in close. His lips parted and his chest rose as he took a deep breath and let it out. Then he turned his face away, staring at his phone.

  It seemed Sterling was true to his word—he wasn’t going to push things. Sure, I was sending mixed signals, telling him to keep away while shifting closer myself. At that moment, though, I knew what I wanted, knew exactly how to tell him so he’d be sure to understand. But first, we had to handle this situation with Cole. I shifted so I could see the phone, careful to press every inch of my side against Sterling.

  “You’re in this up to your eyeballs,” Gilbert told Cole. If there was any doubt in my mind he was a bad apple, it was erased by the threat in his tone. “These guys aren’t joking around. This isn’t some misunderstanding at the country club. They will seriously mess you up if you don’t pay them back. This is the only way.”

  “And what about you, Gilbert?” Cole snapped back. “Why aren’t they turning the screws on you, too?”

  “Who’s to say they aren’t?” Gilbert pulled up his T-shirt, revealing a nasty purple bruise just below his rib cage, the size and shape of a human fist. I shuddered. I was pretty sure I’d murder anyone who inflicted that kind of harm on my brother. “I was told to deliver, and goddamn it, Cole, you’ll deliver.”

  “I won’t,” Cole replied. “I’ll find a way to get the rest of the money. I made a mistake betting on games and taking that money—actually believing it was that easy to just keep winning. I won’t do this. I won’t let my team down. I’d rather face my consequences now than get in deeper.”

  I was torn between utter horror at what Cole had just admitted and a deep, abiding pride that my brother was finally drawing a line.

  “Get out,” Cole said.

  Gilbert hesitated, as if searching for one more thing that would bring Cole back in line. “You have until Friday to come to your senses.” Then he left, slamming the door.

  Cole walked across the room and flung himself down on his bed, covering his eyes with his forearm. My entire soul ached for my brother. I wanted nothing more than to rush in there and comfort him—and tell him that Sterling and I would find a way to fix everything. But if I had any hope of getting him out of this mess, we couldn’t let him realize how much we knew.

  “Well, that was a bigger success than I dared hope,” Sterling whispered. “I thought it would take a few tries to catch all that.”

  The phone disappeared into his pocket, but I kept staring after it, wondering how on earth this could be considered a success.

  “What were they talking about? Gil wants Cole to throw a game?”

  “Not exactly,” Sterling replied softly, turning his face toward mine. “Point-shaving means a leading athlete, like Cole, doesn’t play up to par. Not so much that his team loses, but enough that they steer the final score toward a specific number. You get a much larger winning if
you guess the correct score.”

  “Cole is in serious trouble.” We had the footage we needed, evidence that Cole was being blackmailed. Agitated and relieved as I was at this discovery, all I could think about was steering the situation back to where we’d almost been a few minutes ago.

  I shouldn’t want this, but I did. I placed my palm flat on his chest, an undeniably deliberate action. Genuine surprise flashed in his eyes.

  “We’ve got our work cut out for us,” I added.

  “But we’ll get it done. Rome wasn’t built in a day, sweetheart.” He shifted closer, but there was a slow, measured quality to his movements. “Neither were those abs you keep staring at.”

  I should have smacked him for that, but I was too distracted by his proximity to process his words. His breath skimmed my jaw in a caress every bit as tangible as if he’d traced a line across my skin with his fingers.

  We shifted closer, millimeter by agonizing millimeter.

  “This time, tell me if it’s too much.” His lips brushed mine, then skimmed the line of my jaw before returning. A jolt of raw longing rocketed down my spine. An entire body’s worth of sensation erupted from that one small point of contact. I trembled—actually trembled—as his mouth settled on mine. He hesitated, moving oh-so-slowly as his lips parted mine. His hands, graspy and quick as they’d been last time, were notably absent. I craved them, ached for his fingers to slide across my skin like they had before. I leaned into him, pressing as close as I possibly could, praying he’d recognize the signal and give me what I needed.

  But Sterling still just kissed me, long and languid, as if there were all the time in the world.

  He had to know what he was doing—igniting a fire inside me but depriving it of the fuel it needed to burn.

  I fisted the front of his shirt and yanked him closer. He made a sound deep in his throat, part growl, part groan. A sound that I’d inspired. I reveled in it—in knowing I’d made Sterling lose even the smallest shred of his signature self-control.

  He pulled back. My eyes flew open, expecting to be greeted by his sarcastic grin. I was scared of how much I wanted him, of the power he could now wield over me. Yet vulnerable as I felt, I could handle whatever came next—whatever life or Sterling Lane threw at me.

  But there was no pause, no sadistic smile. His eyes were closed, lips parted. He was utterly at my mercy. His hands finally joined the show, skimming up my back as he kissed me again, but this time at the feverish pace I needed.

  I kicked my knee over his legs, rolling right up onto his lap. Straddling him for the second time. His chest rose and fell under my palm. A chuckle of surprise, or maybe delight—that I’d been the first to be consumed by the fire between us. But if I’d been first, he was only a half a second behind.

  Hands cupped my hips. Quicksilver fingers untucked my shirt and slid underneath, inch by inch. It was terrifying, the way his touch left ripples of longing in its wake. Teeth grazed my earlobe. Lips traced a slow, languid line down my throat. I tipped my head back, praying for more. When he stopped, a mortifying little mewl slipped right out of me, the sound of a kitten left out in the rain.

  He didn’t pause to mock me or to celebrate the way he’d made me lose control. Instead his eyes locked on mine as his fingers slid my shirt up. I inhaled, exhaled in staccato bursts, trembling as his thumb traced my collarbone. He froze.

  “Should I stop?” he whispered.

  Yes. I should say it. I should push him away. I knew it from the way my Rules bayed like banshees. But I couldn’t make myself do it, couldn’t make myself care about Rules or consequences.

  I shook my head over and over again.

  I slid my hands up under his shirt, skimming along his back until I could feel every twitch of muscle as he moved. And it still wasn’t enough. I bunched up his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. We paused just long enough for him to shrug right out of it.

  Then his lips were on my collarbone and I thought I might actually die. I’d taken charge of this situation only to lose it again, surrendering completely under the experienced touch of my mortal enemy. I couldn’t let Sterling Lane win. His breath hitched; I had power over him, too.

  I pushed his chest hard, forcing him down, pressing him into the carpet with my body. I kissed his throat, sliding my fingers up his stomach, mimicking what he’d done just moments ago. I felt him tremble just like I had, felt his heart hammering underneath my fingertips. I gloried in the power, in the confusing ripples of pleasure and aggression that shot through me as his hand curled around my neck, locking my mouth against his. I was out of control—we were out of control. We’d boarded a runaway train, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  Light flooded the room, but my body begged me to ignore it. This feeling could never end—I wouldn’t let it. Voices echoed through the room from the open bedroom door.

  I bolted upright, right on Sterling’s stomach. I grabbed my shirt, fumbling to pull it over my head while Sterling rolled lazily up on one elbow and helped, tugging it down just in time. The door swung open the rest of the way. Parker was talking to someone in the hallway, so it took a moment before he turned his eyes toward the inside of the room and saw us.

  Eyebrows shot up. Lips curled down at the corners.

  “What the hell?” Parker demanded.

  “Sterling fell,” I said. “I was helping him.”

  “Helping him what? Stay down?”

  Parker had a point, so I pulled myself to my feet, brushing off my jeans. Fibers from the ancient rug coated every inch of my clothing. I looked at Sterling for help, but he just flashed a cruel little smile and motioned with one hand for me to continue.

  “We were studying.”

  “In the dark?” Parker scoffed. “In my room?”

  “It was a science experiment,” I said, an explanation forming in my mind.

  “What kind of experiment?” Parker asked skeptically.

  “Human anatomy,” Sterling interjected, looking me right in the eye.

  I flinched. “I was going to say something about electricity,” I hissed at him.

  “Yes, there was that, too,” he said in a voice that made my knees go wobbly.

  “I thought you took physics?” Parker’s forehead creased, and I was painfully embarrassed for all of us when the meaning behind Sterling’s words finally settled in.

  Sterling’s smile widened. He was an alligator that wouldn’t bother to bite before swallowing me whole.

  Parker took a step into the room. His hunkering posture was vaguely threatening. “Yeah, well, whatever you’re doing, do it in your own room. I don’t even want to know how you got in here.”

  “We needed privacy,” Sterling said. “And, well, Cole is in there. That could be a little awkward.”

  “Shut up, Sterling,” I snapped. “You are so obnoxious.”

  “And you love that about me.” He sat up all the way and reached for his wallet. “Hundred bucks if you clear out for an hour,” he said to Parker.

  “Hundred bucks?” Parker was actually considering the offer.

  “Well, I hope you’re buying solitude,” I growled at Sterling, “because I’m leaving.”

  “Of course. But I suggest you adjust yourself first.” His eyes were leveled at my chest. I looked down at half a shirt’s worth of buttons dangling limp and alone, wrenched loose from their better halves.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks so much to both of you for not telling me sooner. And for letting me make a complete fool of myself.”

  Parker smiled awkwardly and looked away.

  “That’s hardly what I’d call it,” Sterling replied quietly before his voice sharpened. “And Parker, you should watch where you’re looking. Some people—Kendall, perhaps—might get jealous. And she’s not the only one.” Sterling inclined his head toward me. “Stay away from this one.”

  Parker’s hands curled into fists, and as much as I’d have loved to stay for that macho showdown, I was dizzy. Confused. Shocked at what
had happened, at what my treacherous hormones had nearly led me to do. My pending shower would drain the local reservoir, trying to wash all that shame away.

  I started for the door, but Sterling was up in an instant. “You’re not going out like that.” He caught my hand and turned me, fastening the buttons himself with his impossibly nimble fingers.

  “Guess what, Sterling? I don’t care anymore. Let the entire campus get a good eyeful of what your influence will get them.”

  “No. I don’t like to share.” Sterling’s voice chased me out the door as I pushed past Parker. “And Rule 364 stipulates that provocative clothing is inappropriate in every context, but most especially at school.”

  I ignored him, just like I tried to ignore Cole when his head popped out his door, curious about the shouting.

  “Are you and Sterling going at it again?” he called after me, exasperated.

  “You have no idea,” I shot back. I wasn’t sure if Cole noticed my state of disarray, but I didn’t care. Maybe it would be good for him to know that he wasn’t the only one with secrets. I was beginning to realize the danger of repressed feelings, of holding yourself back and denying who you were. You could only keep it up for so long before you exploded all over the place—whether that meant gambling or stealing or rolling around on the floor with a wickedly beautiful boy, the results were the same.

  Utter chaos. A level of madness that not even externally imposed discipline could contain. Not 537 Rules. Not the law or the disciplinary committee. It was time to let myself emerge from behind the shadow of my Rules. They were no longer enough; perhaps they’d never been.

  The worst part of this whole fiasco was how feverishly I wanted to go back to Parker’s room and do it all over again. It was as if Sterling Lane had left an indelible imprint. His touch was tattooed onto my skin, an ever-present echo that I knew would never entirely fade away.

  But that didn’t mean I was giving in to Sterling, or that I’d been corrupted by his insidious influence. I already knew he was no good for a girl like me. But that didn’t mean another boy couldn’t be. Maybe Kendall and all those other girls I’d mocked weren’t so ridiculous after all. That kiss had turned my universe upside down. I’d thrown out everything—even my Rules—in the heat of that moment, which is exactly why I could never let it happen again. Not like that. Not in the out-of-control collision course that Sterling seemed to inspire.