Honeytrap

by Crystal Green

  Micah wasn’t forever. He was right—I’d get back on my feet, go ahead with all the plans I’d made in life to be successful, to be an entrepreneur and a woman no one would ever insult again.

  I floated off into a space where all those dreams could come true, and the next thing I knew, the sound of yelling made me bolt up, the blanket falling off me.

  Splashes in the water. Cheers. Running footsteps on the dock.

  Micah had started awake, too, and we both listened to whoever was out there on the dock in the dead of night.

  “Shit,” I said, looking at him.

  Micah smiled like the rascal my mom said he was, and I got the feeling that he wouldn’t care if we were discovered on a blanket on the other side of the rock that hid us.

  Not a rascally bit.

  16

  It was bad enough that we had a bunch of town kids blocking our way out of the lake, but when I heard a girl yell, “Take it off, Rex,” my pulse stabbed me.

  “Skinny dipping at midnight?” I whispered harshly. “Why’d they have to pick now?”

  “At least they’ll be distracted by their naked selves, and when I drive off, they won’t see you in the town slut’s car.”

  He seemed amused enough, but I knew a little bit more about Micah than I had known a week ago, and I noticed the chafe in his tone. He didn’t like all this secrecy stuff. But didn’t he know that if the kids and Rex saw me with their nemesis, I’d be in an even deeper social hole than I was already? They’d crucify me.

  Rex’s rebel yell carried above the others from the dock, then there was a mighty splash, accompanied by girls cheering.

  Micah’s gaze lit up. “If we had any guts, we’d run right out on the dock in what God gave us, too. What do you say, Angel? Can we get as sexy as Rexy?”

  “Don’t even joke about it.” I was already folding the blanket that’d been covering us. In a flash of strange realization, I was reminded that I’d woken up cuddled in Micah’s arms, and there was something beautifully innocent about that.

  He’d never made a move on me.

  As I cleaned up our site, there were more splashes, more catcalls. In another world, I would’ve been out there with them. Shelby Carson was shy about taking off her clothes, even in the still of a wild Saturday night. But it would’ve been Lana out there, not me.

  Micah stood and stretched, totally unconcerned. “I really do have half a mind to join them, just to stir their night up. If you want, you can wait in the car to hear them get ruffled at the sight of me.”

  Jeez, he wasn’t kidding. “You know what would happen if you showed up at their skin party, right? You’d have another black eye because the guys”—probably ones like Doug Markowski and Chance Gutherie—“would beat you silly for daring to check out their bare asses. And their girlfriends’ asses.”

  Shrugging, Micah began to peel off his T-shirt. “How do you know I haven’t seen most of them already?”

  I stopped him from taking off his shirt, holding on to the hem. It tore, a small sound of resistance, but he only grinned in spite of his injuries.

  “What happened to being a lover and not a fighter?” I whispered.

  “Why, Shelby, it’s as if you’d be affected if they gave me another black eye. Less than a week ago, you probably would’ve applauded.”

  “No, I wouldn’t have. How can you say that?”

  He got that intense look in his eyes, making me uncomfortable yet so awake, making me clamp my lips together so I wouldn’t say another word, because God knew what might come out.

  I don’t feel the same way about you as I did back then. I don’t know what the hell to do with you anymore, Micah . . .

  He skimmed his hands over mine, which were still grasping the bottom of his shirt. Then he coasted them up my arms until I trembled.

  Voice low, he said, “I’m still a lover, not a fighter, but I’ll tell you what else I am.”

  With a burst of mischievous energy, he tugged me toward the bank of rocks, scrambling up them until we were on our knees, hidden by a sweep of pine branches and cottonwood leaves.

  Micah’s bruise near his mouth didn’t keep him from wearing that shit-eating grin. “What I am is a fan of revenge.”

  A slow thrill was rising in me as he took his phone out of his front jeans pocket.

  “You’re a college girl,” he whispered. “A business major to boot, right? So you’ve got to know what leverage is.”

  He peered over the top of the rocks, aiming his camera down below.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this!”

  But I joined him in peeking above the rocks to the view just below us: clothes strewn on the dock; cheerdevils in the water with the moonlight shining down on their vague, naked forms while they treaded water; Rex’s high school football buddies—Chance, Doug, and Dante Rhodes—still in their boxers and watching the girls; Rex in the water, bracing his hands on the dock and pulling himself up, raining water on the wood.

  Naked as a jaybird.

  I looked away, even though I was familiar with that much of Rex.

  “Damn,” Micah said, nodding as if he was impressed as he clicked his shutter app. “No wonder he’s hopping around naked out there, showing it off. He’s got something to show.”

  I gave him a what? look, and he laughed, sucking in a breath because he’d obviously forgotten that it hurt to smile as wide as he’d been doing. “Locker rooms, urinal stalls . . . guys are used to being around one another’s junk. We give credit where it’s due. Besides, I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  Oookay. “What’re you going to do with those pictures?”

  “As soon as Rex’s friends take off their shorts, I’ll click away again, then send the shots to you so you can do what you want. Leverage, Angel.”

  “You mean blackmail?” I shouldn’t have thought that this was a good idea, but I was quickly warming to it. Shockingly quick.

  “If you wanna shut people up, you need to give them a reason.”

  “So I should post embarrassing photos on a website or something? I can’t do that.” Could I?

  No. Absolutely not.

  Down below, Chance, Dante, and Doug finally stripped all the way to their skins, and before they could make quick runs for the water and cannonball in, Micah snapped a photo. Rex joined them in the water with another yell.

  Micah showed me what he’d captured so far—butts and floppy ding-dongs that you could barely see in the night.

  “So I’m no artist,” he said, “but just let Rex know that you’ve got rough proof of him exposing himself in public with his friends. Maybe then he won’t send you more messages that bother you, like he did the other night.” Micah lowered the phone. “Has he been sending more?”

  “He’s moved on to texts.”

  “Yeah, I suspected he wouldn’t leave well enough alone.” Micah stuffed the phone away. “Guys like him . . . once they know what bothers another person, they keep at it. Texting is his leverage, his reminder to you that he’s got the upper hand, and don’t mind my saying so, but you’re probably giving it right over to him.”

  “I’ve gotten better about facing up to my issues.” Kind of. I didn’t mention the clothes store incident, though, but that wasn’t about Rex. That was about everyone else. “Rex doesn’t have any kind of moral upper hand with me, seeing as he was the one who strayed with Lana. Why should he have leverage?”

  As the kids carried on below, squealing and splashing, Micah reached over and gently took my chin between his finger and thumb, turning my face to him. Warmth rolled through me.

  “I wish you really believed that,” he said.

  Didn’t I? Or would I always be my own worst punishment, beating myself up for honeytrapping Rex?

  “Just imagine,” Micah said, “how much grief you saved yourself with him in the long run by being
Lana Peyton. You ask me, I’d say you had a feeling about who Rex really was, and you only proved it. Your biggest mistake was in choosing an asshole like him in the first place.”

  What was Micah telling me? That I should choose someone like him?

  Luckily, I wouldn’t have to make that decision, because I’d be out of here at the end of summer, back in my college world, piecing everything back together there.

  I almost told him that, but out of the blue, he lowered his lips to my cheek, kissing me softly. My mind went on the fritz, my vision cut with needful static.

  He didn’t take things any further, drawing back from me, keeping his fingers on my chin. Maybe fully kissing me would hurt with his wounds.

  “You falling for me yet?” he whispered.

  “Never.” But I smiled, unsure of whether I was lying to myself or not.

  At the dock, the boys had put their boxers back on, holding out blankets for the girls as they got out of the water. Micah took me by the hand again and led me off the rocks. He pulled his blankets off the ground and we headed for the Camaro.

  “Are we just going to motor out of here, right in front of them?” I asked. “They’ll know whose car this is.”

  “Good.” He opened my door, then went to his side. “Just make sure you keep a low profile in that passenger’s seat, Sunshine.”

  We both hopped in, and when he started the motor, the sound zoomed through the woods.

  He drove out of the trees and onto the dirt path, and when he braked to a stop, I almost threw a fit. Then he revved the engine extra hard, but Rex and his friends were already staring at us from the dock, frozen.

  Something crazy inside me almost rolled down the window, almost hung out of it and waved to the crowd with my own rebel yell. I was pretty sure Micah was giving me the chance to do it, too.

  But the glimmer of rebelliousness poofed away in me, and I slid down in the seat.

  Micah didn’t say anything. He only tightened his jaw and took off, fishtailing on the dirt and jamming forward, leaving the devils in the dust.

  ***

  May 20, 3:02am

  Subject: Leverage

  [Attachments]

  Doubt you’ll use these pictures, Angel, but they’re here if you want them—along with many other things . . .

  I’d gotten the e-mail ping on my phone from ParlorFly soon after falling into bed, but I’d put off looking at it, thinking it’d be Rex trying to resurrect Lana Peyton’s account from limbo again. But when I checked the message in the morning, I realized that Micah had dug up my alter ego somehow, maybe because he knew my screen name. Or maybe he’d sent the pictures there in secret, thinking I’d be erasing the account soon and this would be a good way for him not to have the evidence traced, if anyone ever cared to look into it.

  I wasn’t going to use the pictures, because everyone would know I’d been with Micah since he’d made such a big show of tearing out of the lake in his car.

  At any rate, I left the leverage alone, torn between sending Micah an answer as Lana and not. I was almost wondering if he’d been making a bigger point in messaging Lana instead of trying to get a hold of my phone number or my regular e-mail.

  As it happened, I didn’t have to stress too much about how to contact him, because he took care of that all by himself.

  I’d decided to skip church service. Mom had never been a fan, and neither were the café girls, so I’d occasionally gone on my own with Evie. But church definitely wasn’t my thing now, because I couldn’t bear the thought of walking in and having all those Rex-loving faces turning my way, frowning at me as they had in the clothes store yesterday. Sure, some of them might smile and welcome me back—I didn’t think all churchgoers were hypocrites, just the ones who adored Rex—but maybe I’d work my way up to going some Sunday.

  That left my morning open and free. Mom and the girls were sleeping in before heading to the café, but I’d decided I would do some housecleaning so Mom wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow, on a rare day off. I thought it might be nice if she could go to a matinee at the Ritz instead, which was a luxury that Mr. Carmichael had told me she didn’t take much anymore.

  Since most of the neighborhood was churching, I fully opened the pool house windows to the utter morning quiet, then tidied my space before going in the main house to dust everything but the rooms the girls were staying in, since it was part of their free rent to clean up after themselves. I even scrubbed the kitchen. Three hours later, after Mom and the girls were ready for the café, they hugged me for the work I’d done and left for the Angel’s Seat.

  After that, I took a shower and, with my hair wet, put on some mascara and lip balm. But just as I was going to dry my hair, I heard a noise from our driveway—the sound of metal hitting pavement and echoing from the carport.

  Crap. I’d left my pickup unlocked last night. So much for the security of a small town . . .

  I went through the side yard and out the gate, and when I came around the corner to the carport, my mouth gaped.

  Micah was underneath the hood of my pickup, his toolbox on the ground.

  He must’ve heard me coming because he raised himself from the engine, reaching into his back jeans pocket to get a rag and wipe his hands on it. His grimy T-shirt told me he could’ve chucked that rag for all the good it’d done.

  “You’re fixing my truck?” I asked.

  “I figured now would be the time, while all the saints are in the pews.” He gestured toward the Deacon & Darwin truck he’d parked across the street. “Don’t worry about being seen in public with me—I’m making a house call.”

  “The shop doesn’t do cars,” I said, panicking ever so slightly. Why was he taking this kind of risk, letting us be seen together?

  “Maybe we should start.” He shoved the rag back in his jeans, gesturing toward my engine. “Your PCV valve was stuck, and that’s why your exhaust smoke was gray. The part isn’t expensive, and the labor wouldn’t be intensive, so I can take care of this for you.”

  Hold up. “Micah, you’re sure going through a lot of trouble for me.”

  “You mean for a girl I have no stake in?”

  He’d said it, not me. But as he closed the pickup’s hood, I thought I saw the muscles in his jaw bunch, then relax. “I wouldn’t want you breaking down somewhere, Shelby, so consider this the work of a Good Samaritan. It’s Sunday, after all.”

  “Well . . . thank you.”

  Was he expecting me to say something about those pictures he’d sent to Lana?

  “By the way,” I said, “I got your e-mail. Why did you use that address?”

  He merely smiled at me, and I knew he’d contacted Lana on purpose to stir something up.

  “Just when I think I’m understanding you . . .” Disappointed that he was playing games again, I waved him off, going around to the side yard and toward the gate.

  After last night, I thought we were someplace else with each other. But with this one smooth move, he’d shown me that he was ready to resume the games—and he wanted Lana to come out and play.

  He wasn’t far behind me, catching the gate and sliding through before it chopped closed behind him.

  “Shelby . . .”

  “To you, I’m Lana. Evidently.”

  “Hey . . .”

  He caught me, bringing me against the wall next to a garden hose spigot. My sandals sank into the grass-lined dirt, my back against the flat stone facade. His body was pasted against mine as he gripped my wrists, and I looked up at him, my eyes wide.

  Could he see how anxious I was? Because he backed away slightly, still keeping a hold on me.

  “Dammit,” he said, his voice gritty, “even after just a few hours, I can’t stay away from you.”

  How could he have flipped this switch so fast? Last night seemed like a different Micah.

  “You can
say it,” I told him. “You can’t stay away from Lana, and last night was a part of all your games. You heard about her even before I got to town, and she’s the one you’ve got up against a wall right now. Is she the one you wanted to be with at the lake, too?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe I do wonder about you . . . her . . . sometimes. Maybe I’d like to know how far she is under your skin . . .”

  “But you didn’t try to bring her out at the lake when you had a chance because we’d actually started to treat each other like human beings and put all the bullshit behind us? Whatever.”

  He didn’t let me go, but I wasn’t exactly struggling. There was something about how his breath was coming faster, how mine was, too.

  Finally, he sighed roughly. “You’re right. And when I got home, I sent that e-mail, mostly as a tease, an inside joke. I wasn’t thinking.”

  But from the intense blaze of his gaze, he was thinking—of her. For once, he wasn’t being honest with me, and that was confusing. He’d put last night behind us like it’d only been a smokescreen for this—his pursuit of Lana, not me.

  Not me at all.

  I swallowed. “I’m not her.”

  But from the way my center was going moist, stiff, and achy for him, it was getting harder to distance myself from Lana.

  And she’s brought you nothing but trouble, I thought. Unfortunately, trouble of the worst kind was right in front of me, bringing his fingers to my cheek, tracing down my skin and making me slide down the wall an inch.

  “You’re the most complicated woman I’ve ever met,” Micah said in a ragged whisper. “You don’t even seem to realize what you do to me. I do the most idiotic things around you.”

  But I did realize how I affected him, because as he leaned closer to me, pressing against my body, I felt every inch of it.

  Which part of me was he looking at now—Shelby or Lana?

  Both?

  I wanted him so much that it didn’t seem to matter, and when he slowly leaned down to kiss me—hard and soft, deep and long—I threw every bit of myself into it, digging my fingers into his hair, wanting all of him.