by Monica James
He breaks the sloppy kiss, lightly brushing a pouting Helen aside, his burning gaze still riveted on me. The blood whooshes through my ears, and my heart punches against my ribcage, frantic to break free. My breathing is embarrassingly loud, and it appears Sin can hear the treachery because that smug trademark smirk tugs at the corner of his bow lips.
I need to pull my shit together and stop this insanity now.
His swagger is all the more confident as he strides toward us. I wish he would look somewhere else because I’m beginning to burn up in places that I should not be—ever, when it comes to London Sinclair.
“Why is he looking at you like you’re a big juicy steak?” Belle whispers in my ear, while I play it off.
“Don’t be ri-ridiculous.” My falter gives away my impending hysteria. I can’t tear my eyes away from him, and he doesn’t seem to mind, which is contradictory on all terms, considering what has happened these past six months.
“Hey, bro,” Lincoln says, lightly punching Sin on the arm. Standing side by side distinguishes the difference between man and boy.
Sin smirks, still holding me captive under that hypnotic blue stare. “Hey, Linc.”
“When did you get out?”
I wish I could move, but I fear my jelly legs won’t hold me up.
“This morning,” he replies, appearing to want to bypass him and keep walking.
“I thought you had another three months,” Lincoln replies, doing a poor job at hiding his sour mood.
“Your dad didn’t tell you? I got out on good behavior,” Sin replies smartly, while I scoff a little louder than intended.
“My dad?” Lincoln barks, his fingers curling into fists. The football coach is Lincoln’s father, which you’d think would work in his favor. But if anything, it’s done the opposite. Sin is the star quarterback, and Coach does a poor job hiding the fact he wishes London were his son, not Lincoln.
“Yeah, he’s stopped by a couple of times. Keeping me up to date with how the team is doing. Sounds like you’re dropping the ball. Good thing I’m back.” Lincoln is moments away from combusting into a rage when Sin slaps him on the back smugly.
I snicker once again at Sin’s arrogance, but I wish I’d kept my mouth shut because the moment that small breath leaves my lips, the world closes in on me and all that’s left is this heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach of…happiness that he’s back.
The reason I’ve been so mad at myself for thinking about him is because…I’ve missed him, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself because I’ve guarded a secret, one not even Belle is privy to.
These past six months…I’ve written to Sin every week, and every week all I’ve received in return is a big fat nothing. No acknowledgment of my letters, no thanks for sending me the latest edition of Playboy, no nothing. All I could think about was him, and he couldn’t even reply with a measly thank you.
Thanks to me having a permanent chaperone, I couldn’t visit him in juvie, not that I’d want to, because what would I say? ‘Thanks for saving my ass?’ Because that’s what he did. I felt indebted to him, hence me writing the first letter, which eventually turned into one hundred.
At first, I only intended to write him once to thank him for what he did. But the moment I mailed it, I made up some bullshit excuse to write him a second time. I knew what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop.
I wrote him about school, updating him on the petty drama that surrounded Harvard-Westlake, but when he didn’t reply, I decided to change the pace. I teased him, describing all the fun things I was doing while he was locked up. This of course was all lies, seeing as I was grounded until I was fifty. This banter was how we’d communicated in the past, yet all I got was radio silence.
I baked him cookies, sent him magazines, and I even made him a playlist of all my favorite songs. But week after week, I became more and more deflated, sitting by the mailbox and watching the mailman walk by. I know most of those items probably got confiscated, but still, I know he at least received my letters.
I’m certain my parents thought I’d lost my mind, but they didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell them why I was so desperate to hear from my archenemy. It made no sense. It still makes no sense, but now that he’s here, looking at me like he’s missed me as much as I’ve missed him, I want to slap his cheeks and check myself into an asylum.
These past six months, I’ve never felt more alone. Sin has been a constant pain in my ass since I was five-years-old, and him being gone has been fucking awful. I felt like he took a piece of me with him. He’s wormed his way into my life, and I didn’t even realize how much until he left. I guess the saying rings true—absence makes the heart grow fonder.
I almost vomit because I don’t want Sin anywhere near my heart.
But that infernal thing continues its deafening staccato when he walks past Lincoln and jumps up onto the counter with a smirk.
I try my best to deadpan him, but I’m suddenly so happy. I’m engulfed in his heady aroma, which both calms and heightens my nerves.
“Miss me, Princess?” he quips as if nothing has changed.
Rolling my eyes, I quash down my elation. “Like a hole in the head.” He chuckles, the deep sound striking me down low.
I push off the wall, needing to flee, but he traps me with a look alone. “Aww, c’mon, that’s not nice. I missed you.”
His declaration makes my heart flutter—the sentimental fool. “Well, that’s a load of shit, considering Helen’s hooker red lipstick is all over your face. By the way, that isn’t your color. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do. Like not talk to you…ever.”
Belle snorts a giggle behind her hand while I high five my confidence. It’s short-lived however, when he springs off the counter and blocks my exit. The prospect of being caged by him excites me beyond belief.
I look up at his towering frame, while he openly looks down at mine. The air is charged with a tangible tension and a feral desire to jump his bones. I shake my head, once again appalled at myself.
He doesn’t mask his appraisal of my uniform. My pink short shorts and white V-neck tee are modest enough, but I suddenly feel like I’m naked beneath his heated stare.
“Good to see you used your time productively,” I snap, making a point to look at his tattooed arm.
I try my best to flaunt disgust, but I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. The colors are bright, the images animated, and I’m surprised when among the swirling of chaos, I can see the keys of a piano running down the length of his outer forearm. A golden crown sits above.
I want to ask what this means but decide not to, as he’ll no doubt mock me for taking an interest in him.
“I’m getting your name right over my heart,” he mocks, pressing his palm against his chest dramatically.
I shove past him, ignoring the way my flesh responds to his. “Hope I give you heartburn then.” I need to get away from him because everything is too much. I’m thankful he doesn’t follow when I flee.
The blaring disco remixes and flashing lights are giving me a headache. I wish I could leave, but leaving would amount to my surrender and I can’t allow Sin to win. I relieve Alice, taking over the serving at the snack bar.
The long line of kids keeps me busy, which is a welcome distraction because I can feel Sin watching my every move. I fumble, give customers the wrong change, and almost fall over my two left feet, but I don’t give in to my urge. I want to look at him, to make sure he’s really here, but I don’t.
“My kid spilled his Coke.” Peering up from the till, I see a soccer mom addressing me like I’m her own personal slave. She’s decked out in a revealing white pantsuit, which is completely inappropriate for a roller rink.
There are plenty of napkins on the tables, but she’s made it quite clear she has no intention of cleaning it up. I suppose I should feel thankful she even told me. She hooks her thumb over her shoulder, widening her eyes, hinting I’m to snap to it.
“Okay, thanks.
I’ll clean it up in a second.”
When she stands at the counter, drumming her French manicured fingernails on the sticky surface, I wonder if there’s something else I can do for her. “I need another,” she demands, talking to me like I’m some nit-witted imbecile.
My patience is already skating close to the edge, but I suck it up and pour her another cup. She snatches it from me, her gold bracelets jingling from the force. I can only imagine having that much bling because her couture outfit probably exceeds the worth of my entire wardrobe. She saunters off, her red heels stabbing at the weathered linoleum. I hope I never look like her.
At times such as these, I can’t wait to blow this town.
Snatching a mop and bucket from the backroom, I ask Alice to man the fort. I have no idea where Belle is, as I’m too afraid to look five feet in front of me. But I ignore it and focus on the task at hand.
The atmosphere is filled with budding excitement, as who doesn’t love the holidays? I take a moment to appreciate the carefree laughter of the people skating. I love to skate; it’s the reason I applied for a job. But being stuck here most nights after school took the fun out of it. But I remind myself why I’m here.
A couple of kids from my class are making out on one of the tables. This space is small, housing around eight round tables, so I sadly have to push past them to clean up the mess. From the looks of their groping, I’ll be cleaning up another mess soon.
“Jesus Christ, get a room,” I mutter under my breath, but it goes unheard by the amorous couple.
Everyone is so desperate to lose their virginity. It’s all anyone ever talks about. It’s been hinted not so discreetly that I’m a lesbian because I’m probably one of the only girls who has no interest in partaking in locker room talk.
Belle has asked me if I’m ready, and honestly, the answer is no. The thought of any one of those buffoons touching me is enough to make me puke. A little voice inside my head whispers, “Except for one.” I put that voice out of my head and focus on my puddle of goo.
Reaching the napkin holder off the bright green glittery table, I drop to a squat and sigh. From the looks of this, he dropped more than his Coke. “Disgusting,” I mumble under my breath.
Ripping out handfuls of napkins, I toss them onto the sticky puddle of Coke and what looks like a bowl full of Fruit Loops and try not to gag. “Think of Stanford,” I chant softly, but I have to stand and take three deep breaths.
As I do, I allow my eyes to wander, and of course they skirt over to Sin. I wish I could stop this insanity, but I’m drawn to him without even trying. He’s talking to Lincoln, and whatever they’re discussing doesn’t look good.
Sin’s shoulders are hunched, and I see him crack his neck from side to side. Lincoln raises his hands in surrender, which leaves me all the more curious. I’m about to look away, but Sin peers over his shoulder and pins me with a death stare.
I gulp.
I play it off, putting it down to my very vivid imagination, but when he stalks over, I know shit is about to hit the fan. Lincoln blows me a kiss before turning and leaving. What is going on?
I stand motionless, observing him march my way, but he seems to change his mind at the last second and makes a beeline for the snack bar instead. I watch as he sweet talks Alice, who turns beet red. It’s enough to make me sick.
Returning to my colorful hell, I continue to mop up the mess, thankful I had the good sense to grab a pair of gloves and a garbage bag. When the floor is Fruit Loop free, I wring out the mop and begin cleaning it up.
As I’m midstroke, every hair stands on end. I don’t have to look up to see why. What does he want now? I continue mopping, ignoring him on purpose. But he slurps on his slushie, watching me. The loud, infuriating slurping continues until I finally cave.
“What?” Peering up, I widen my eyes, hinting if he has a reason to be here, then please share. He shrugs his broad shoulders, giving me nothing as he continues gulping down his drink. “What do you want?”
Now that we’re alone, I’m finding it harder to conceal my hurt and confusion.
I don’t know what’s worse—being picked on or being ignored.
His lips are wrapped snugly around the straw, and the sight has me wondering what those lips would feel like…pressed to mine.
A strangled wheeze gets trapped in my throat. These thoughts are turning me into a deranged lunatic.
“If you have something to say, just say it, because you’re wasting my time.”
Sin chuckles, but this time, there is no humor or warmth behind it. The sound sends shivers down my spine.
When he advances, closing the distance between us, I wish I’d just kept my mouth shut. “Your letters never hinted you had a boyfriend.” His lips twist into a nasty scowl.
The blood drains from my face, and I feel myself growing faint.
Some small, whimsical part hoped that maybe, just maybe Sin never got my letters. I reasoned that was the only explanation for why he never replied. It spurred me on, it helped me sleep at night, and it made me continue writing.
But now, looking into his fiery eyes, I know I was an idiot for ever wasting one word on this selfish bastard. “You g-got th-them?” I need to make sure. He nods once, ensnaring me with his cold stare. “Why didn’t you write me back?”
I’m pathetic, but I need to know. I need to rid him from my system for good.
“Because I had nothing to say,” he coolly replies, not a falter to his declaration.
“Yet you read them? Why?” I bite back, gripping the wooden mop handle to stop me from slapping him.
As he raises the drink to his lips, I swat his hand away. I’ve had enough of his games. My desperation seems to amuse him, and seeing him this indifferent hurts more than I thought it would. Why am I letting him get the better of me? I know why, but I squash it down.
“Answer me!” I demand.
At this moment, no one has ever been more infuriatingly beautiful, and I grapple with the veracity—I don’t know if I want to hit or kiss him. He sets the path a second later.
Holding the drink out to the side, he coldly replies, “Because I told you…” He closes the gap between us, attempting to intimidate me, but everything coils within, and I’m fearful of what’ll happen when it eventually unfurls. “This is only the beginning.”
I want to ask the beginning of what, but I already know.
He pulls away slowly, his face an impenetrable mask. I open my mouth, ready to confess the reason I wrote him, but with one fluid movement, he unsnaps his fingers from the top of the cup, the contents spilling all over my once clean floor.
The sticky blue drink splashes all over my legs and sneakers, but I don’t flinch, because this is nothing compared to the inner turmoil I feel. I watch as he walks away, pushing through the curious crowd. Only once he’s out the door, do I breathe.
It takes minutes for my racing heart to calm down, and when it does, I’m left standing in a puddle of chaos. I don’t know what’s worse—Sin caring, or Sin not caring at all.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Belle asks, peering over nervously.
Staring out the passenger window, I nod. “For the ten hundredth time, no, Belle, I don’t mind.” She lets out a sigh of relief until I burst her cushy bubble. “If you want to date a colossal dickhead, then that’s your choice.”
She groans, running a hand down her face. “We’re not dating,” she clarifies. “He merely asked if I was going to the party tonight, and I said yes. I probably won’t even see him.”
“He’s pretty hard to miss,” I counter, getting lost in the city of lights and glamour. I now, more than ever, wish I could get lost and never be found. “His ego enters ten minutes before he makes an appearance at the door.”
Yes, I’m pissed off. I’m pissed off because I’m hurt. Things were so much easier when I didn’t care, but the fact is, I do. I’m more than upset Sin didn’t have the decency to write me back. But I’m even angrier that I can’t stop thin
king about it.
Ugh.
I place my forehead to the cool glass, wishing I could tell Belle’s driver to turn back around and take me home.
After I cleaned up the contents of Sin’s slushie, I held my head high and finished my shift without a word. Everyone saw our altercation, and although it was nothing new, us butting heads, to me this felt different.
His actions were filled with a detached spite, and I can’t help but think that whatever Lincoln told him was the reason he went apeshit. I was too focused on the fact that he received my letters to properly digest what he said.
“Your letters never hinted you had a boyfriend.”
Obviously, whatever Lincoln said to him had to do with me, and the fact I’m his apparent girlfriend, which is news to me. But even if I were, what business is it to him?
“I’m sorry he was such an ass,” Belle apologizes, but she’s not the one who should be saying sorry.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it.”
Snapping from my funk, I turn behind me to reach for the mini size bottles of vodka. I don’t usually drink, but I need something to take off the edge. Belle claps excitedly when I offer her a bottle. Unscrewing the lid, I don’t think twice and toss back my head, the contents trickling down my throat. The burn stings, but I welcome it.
“I know, but I just thought he’d be different,” she says, before following suit.
The alcohol gives me an instant buzz, and I inhale a sharp breath through clenched teeth. “Why? ’Cause he went to juvie for me?”
I have told Belle the basics, and she’s sworn not to tell a soul. I didn’t want everyone knowing my business, and I’m sure Sin feels the same way. Belle nods, screwing up her face when the liquor hits her belly.
Needing another hit, I reach for two more bottles—this time, Scotch. “I’m sure there’s a reason why.” I’ve been racking my brain for the past six months, and so far, I’ve come up with nada. But I don’t want to think about this anymore.