She slinks her purse over her shoulder, head tilted as an incredulous half-smile paints her lips. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you care.” Folding her arms, she adds, “You made it perfectly clearly the other night that you don’t. And not that I expect you to. But at least do me the courtesy of not pretending.”
God damn it.
She’s right.
If she only knew how fucked up my thoughts were. How they can turn on a dime. How easily I can talk myself out of things. How badly I need to resist whatever the hell is brewing between us.
This was never meant to be anything—but there’s something stirring deep inside me. A sensation in the center of my chest every time she walks in the room. It’s equally exhilarating and terrifying, and that’s saying a lot because there isn’t much that scares me.
“I’m sorry.”
Her brows lift. “For what?”
“For kissing you like you meant something to me,” I say. “And for fucking you like you didn’t.”
Her jaw hangs. Think it’s safe to say she wasn’t expecting me to be so blunt.
“It was definitely a dick move,” she finally speaks. “But I’m over it. Maybe if I liked you, I’d be more upset.”
Burn.
“But why did you do that anyway?” Her gaze tightens. “It was weird. You were so sweet and then …”
The truth is between me, myself, and I.
And that’s how it’s going to stay.
“I could give you a million excuses,” I say. “But at the end of the day, I’m just as fucked up as everyone. Nobody’s perfect. Not me. Not your dad. Not even your mom. You’ve got to stop idealizing everyone. That’s how you get hurt.”
“You’re side-stepping my question.”
“I was caught up in the moment,” I say, which isn’t a complete lie. “You have to admit, it was really fucking hot.”
Clearing her throat, she straightens her shoulders and fights a grin. “Yeah. It was all right.”
I deserve that.
“You should stay though,” I say. “You had a couple shots of Fireball. I don’t think you should drive home yet. Give it a little more time to wear off.”
Her shoulders fall and her attention moves to the floor. A moment later, she lets her bag slide down her arm and takes a seat at the foot of my bed.
“Just for a little while,” she says, spoken like a true good girl.
“Now don’t go thinking that I care about you all of a sudden,” I tease, nudging her with my foot. “I’d just hate for you to get hurt on the way home. It’d ignite our family feud all over again.”
She turns back to me, smirking. “Was it ever extinguished?”
“Probably not.” I climb off the bed and slip into my boxers and jeans, and then I grab a couple of waters from the mini fridge. “What all do you know, anyway? About what happened? What kinds of things have your parents said about my family over the years?”
“You really want to know?”
I hand her a bottle and uncap mine. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
“Most of what I know comes from the articles printed in the paper,” she says. “Everything else … was kept pretty quiet. My parents never talked about the past much. They only ever said enough to make it clear that I was to stay away from your family at all costs.”
I sniff. “You make us sound like the mafia.”
“That’s basically what you are in this town,” she says. “Your family has connections everywhere you turn. And everyone’s afraid of your dad. There are rumors. I’m sure you’ve heard them all.”
I nod. “Every last one.”
And I never bothered to set a single record straight, though most of them were true.
It’s probably why no one so much as dared to fuck with me in high school. They were scared shitless, and their parents were scared shitless. Anyone in this town would be a damned fool to try to cross my father.
How Rich Rose got away with it not once, but twice, is a real life miracle.
I’d never tell Sheridan this, but as long as my dad has a fighting breath in him, her father’s living on borrowed time. I’m convinced he hasn’t offed him yet because he gets off on torturing him from afar. Making sure he can’t hold down a job. Tarnishing his name all over town. Sometimes it’s the little things that make the biggest impact, he always tells me.
“Why’s your room so generic?” She changes the subject. “You don’t have any pictures, any ribbons or trophies.”
“I don’t need reminders of things that have already happened.” They live in my head enough as it is … “And I don’t really get attached to things.”
Or people.
Especially not people.
“Let me guess, your room is filled with mementos. On your bed is the quilt your grandmother made. And you’ve got a small desk with a bulletin board covered with participation ribbons and awards that will be meaningless to you in five years. Maybe a handful of photographs in mismatched frames …”
“Geez. It’s like you’ve been in my room or something.”
“Really?”
Sheridan shakes her head and takes a sip of water. “I have a bedspread, not a quilt. Bought from a thrift shop. And I don’t have a desk because there’s not enough space to fit a bed and a dresser in my room. I do have a lot of pictures, but not as many as you probably think. And all of my meaningless awards are kept in a plastic box on the top shelf of my closet.”
“Close enough.”
She shrugs, and then she places her water on the floor, fixes her ponytail, and checks the time. I can’t let her leave yet. It isn’t safe.
“Out of all the pools that night, why’d you pick mine?” I ask to stall her. Plus, I’m curious. “There must be hundreds of pools in this town.”
“Easy,” she says. “Yours is placed farther away from the house. Everyone else’s pools are basically right off their back patios. I guess I thought no one would see me if I took a swim in yours …”
Smart.
“Why’d you break that beer bottle?” she asks, her turn.
“I was angry.”
“Because I snuck in?”
“Because you ran from me when I was talking to you,” I say. “I knew exactly who you were the second I saw your face. And when you took off, you were just another Rose who disrespected a Monreaux and had the audacity to avoid the consequences.”
My jaw sets the way it did that night.
But I don’t want to be angry. I’m too fucking spent.
Rising, she gathers her things and saunters my way. “Pretty sure I’ve paid my penance now though. Don’t you think?”
Her sweet scent invades my lungs, and her mouth is so close I could kiss her.
“We should do this more often,” I say. “Maybe make it a regular thing …”
Her glassy eyes search mine. “I leave for school at the end of the month.”
“Same.”
We remain motionless in a thick silence, the space between us heavy with things neither of us are saying.
“As long as we’re on the same page,” she says after a minute of quiet contemplation. “It’s just hooking up.”
“I wouldn’t dream of anything more.” My chest tightens because I’m a lying bastard. I dreamt of her last night, and the night before. And there are daydreams too. I’ll be going about my day and suddenly catch myself thinking about the way she tastes, the way her body fits perfectly with mine, the sweet scent of her hair, or that coy face she makes when she’s trying not to smile at something I said.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Rose girl,” I say.
“Yeah?”
I hook my hands around the small of her waist and pull her against me. “I don’t think you should leave yet.”
She frowns. “I can’t stay all night …”
“You shouldn’t drive yet. It hasn’t been long enough.”
Sh
e begins to protest, but I crush her petal-soft lips with mine. “Get back in bed. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sheridan
* * *
“You know it’s the strangest thing, I got up in the middle of the night last night to use the bathroom and the back door was wide open,” Mom says the next morning. “Then I checked on you and you were sound asleep. About scared me to death.”
Shit. I must have not latched it when I came home. The lock is loud, and I didn’t want to make too much noise. I thought I got it, but apparently not. I’ll have to be more careful next time—and there will be a next time because August and I are … hooking up now.
The sweet ache between my legs pulses, but I tamp down my ill-timed excitement.
Mom sips her coffee and cinches her terrycloth robe, gazing out the window above the kitchen sink like she might spot some kind of evidence in the back yard.
“So guess what?” I change the topic. “I just found out you were selected for that home nurse program.”
She turns to me, eyes wide with a grin so big it nearly stretches to her ears. “What?! Sweetheart, that’s amazing.” But in a flash, her expression darkens. “Are you sure it’s not some kind of scam? Why would they pick me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they liked the essay I wrote?” I die a little on the inside every time I lie to her. But this is for a good cause. “Anyway, your nurse is Mona and she starts Monday. I’ll train her and everything the first few days. And by the time I’m off at school, she should have everything down.”
“Does your father know?”
“Not yet.” I didn’t want to say anything in case my arrangement didn’t pan out.
Her mouth twists at one side. “You know how he is about being left out of big decisions like that …”
“How could he say no to this? It’s going to make his life easier. And yours. And mine.”
“This is true …” She lifts her mug to her lips but doesn’t take a drink. “It’s going to be an adjustment for all of us.”
“But it’s for the best,” I remind her.
“Absolutely.”
“By the way, I’m staying at Adri’s this Friday night.” I have no idea if or when I’ll see August again, but I figure I should plant the seed now so she knows I might be gone.
“What are you girls going to do without each other in a couple of weeks?”
My mind wanders to August before it goes to Adriana.
“We’re just taking things one day at a time.”
“Will she come visit you at school?” Mama asks.
August’s sexy smirk fills my head.
“I don’t expect that, no.” My answer applies to both of them. Adri might come up and convince me to find some frat party to crash, but she’s got her own life back here. I don’t expect her to drive two hours to see me on a regular basis. That’s what FaceTime is for.
“Well then you’ll see each other on breaks,” Mama says.
“Yeah … I’m sure we will.”
“I can just tell she’s going to be one of those lifelong friends, you know? The ones who are there for you through it all. You’re getting your color back, you know. You’re sleeping better these days. And your eyes sparkle again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were falling in love with someone.” Mama chuckles.
Oh, god.
There’s no way …
I’m not falling in love with August—I barely know him.
My stomach somersaults in protest.
It’s lust. Hardcore lust. We have insane physical chemistry and he’s a distraction and release for me—that’s all.
“Speaking of Adriana, I should get ready for work.” I kiss Mama’s cheek and trek to my room. Plucking my phone off the charger, I find a text waiting for me.
ENEMY DEAREST—Tonight?
ME—I can’t. How about Friday?
ENEMY DEAREST—I don’t know if I can wait that long …
ME—You’re going to have to. I can’t keep sneaking out like this.
ENEMY DEAREST—Then I’ll come to you.
ME—You’re insane. I’ll see you Friday.
I catch my reflection in my dresser mirror—big, old, dopey grin and eyes lit like fireworks.
This isn’t love. Not even close. But I kind of worry that it might be something …
I just don’t know what that something is yet—or if I can tamp it down before it turns into something bigger than the two of us.
Chapter Twenty-Five
August
* * *
It’s half-past midnight when I park a block away from Sheridan’s house. Jogging up the sidewalk, I shoot her a message.
ME—Which window is yours?
ROSE GIRL—What?
ME—I’m outside your house. I told you I was coming over tonight.
ROSE GIRL—Omfg. You’re lying.
Her little blue Nissan is parked in front of her family’s bungalow.
She’s home.
ME—Is it the one with the flower curtains? And the lamp light on?
ROSE GIRL—My parents are home …
ME—Are they sleeping?
ROSE GIRL—Yes, but that’s not the point. You literally. Can. Not. Be. Here.
I rap on her window, light but audible enough. A second later the curtains fly open and she slides the lower portion up.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she yell-whispers.
“I told you—I can’t wait until Friday.”
“You have to go home.” She keeps her voice low, turning back to check the door.
“Help me up.” I climb up the siding. To my surprise, she pops out the torn screen, grabs onto my arms, and pulls me into her room, which is exactly the way she described it last night, only she neglected to mention the unicorn snow globe on her nightstand.
“You’re truly insane. You know that, right? One hundred percent. Certifiable.” She crosses her arms.“I cannot believe you’re here right now.”
I silence her with a kiss.
“Shh,” I remind her. Capturing her wrist, I lead her to the bed, but she resists.
“No,” she says, “it’s too loud.”
Fine. Floor sex it is.
I crush her lips with mine and part them with my tongue, tasting her spearmint toothpaste and soaking in the heat from her body. A minute later we’re on the floor, Sheridan grinding on my lap as I slide her pajama bottoms aside and she impales herself onto me. With every slow, intentional roll of her hips, she brings us closer to the edge. And when she’s almost there, she buries her face in my shoulder and rocks against me so hard the lamp on her nightstand shakes.
Quick and dirty, we finish in record time—for me personally—and she walks me to the window.
Her cheeks are flushed orgasm pink. For a second, the image of some drunk college douche trying to jam his pencil dick into her comes to mind, and a flash of heat crawls up my neck. In a couple of weeks, she’ll be free game. A pretty little freshman like her, with those perfect tits and those baby blue eyes would be ripe for the picking. She wouldn’t last two seconds at Bexler. The assholes I know would be stag-fighting for first dibs.
She deserves better than that.
She doesn’t deserve to be objectified—which is also why I’ve recently deleted the security videos from our trysts in my bedroom. And from here on out, I’ll disable the cam when she’s over. What happens between us, stays between us.
“August, you have to go.” She nods toward the window. “Seriously, don’t do this again, okay?”
Yeah, it was a crazy move—but I couldn’t get her out of my head all day, waiting until the weekend was out of the question, and there was nothing else to do.
I hoist myself out the window and land on my feet. Sheridan leans her head out, her messy hair falling down her shoulders and spilling into her cleavage.
“Friday,” she says. “Your place.”
I scoff. As if I need the reminder.
/>
A minute later, I drive to my side of town, drowning out my cacophony of obsessive thoughts with some random MUNRO album I have on my phone. I crank the volume until the music echoes inside me, through me, and all over me—like I’m made of hollow glass.
Halfway into the next song, I slam on the brakes—this isn’t a hollowness I’m feeling … it’s a fullness.
I don’t know what that means, but it isn’t anything I’ve ever felt before with anyone else … and it can’t be good.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sheridan
* * *
I roll to the empty side of the bed Friday night, fresh off of orgasm number three. He promised me no less than five, but we’ve been going at this since I stepped foot inside his bedroom, and I’m honestly exhausted.
“You want to take a break?” he asks, grabbing some waters.
I steal a glimpse of his naked backside when he isn’t looking. He’s got a body built for pleasure and sin, but I’ve never really taken the time to fully appreciate his chiseled abs or the way his muscles dip in the small of his back just above his perfect ass.
“Yes,” I say.
Grabbing a remote, he points to a painting on the wall—which I’m now realizing was a TV all this time—and powers on Netflix. Sliding into bed next to me, he props a pillow behind his back and tells me to pick something.
It’s strange how comfortable this is, how natural it feels to be with him.
Inside these walls, we’re not a Rose and a Monreaux. We’re two adults who happen to enjoy one another’s company for reasons even we can’t explain. Although I hardly know him, when we’re together, I’m as comfortable with him as I am someone I’ve known my entire life. It’s strange. And makes zero sense. But I can’t deny it. And believe me, I’ve tried.
I force the thoughts away and focus on the menu.
No point in entertaining what could have been … what will never be.
We’re only hooking up. We both leave for college in a couple of weeks. Being together openly would have a myriad of consequences for both of us. His dad would disown him. My mother would be heartbroken. My father would be devastated—though he’s honestly the least of my concerns right now.
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