by Einat Segal
It’s so good, and I want more.
There's a blissful moment of pure ecstasy as his hands roam through my hair. His breaths are quick and short. My back is plastered against his chest, and I can feel the rapid beating of his heart. We exchange heat. My whole body is buzzing. This is incredible.
"Fee, I want you so bad,” he murmurs, and I can feel what he means.
Oh no. I realize what's about to happen. The warmth and hardness of his body against mine, the tantalizing fire coursing through my blood. My hips sway; I rub against him.
He takes one hand out of my hair to bring it around my waist, and that's when the spell is broken. Before his naughty fingers can head down, down low to the part of me that’s begging for his attention—God help me—I regain control over my limbs and shove myself away from him.
An aching chill lances through me. I'm burning so bad. But no matter what, I can't let him win.
I spin around to face him, ready to tell him just how much I hate him and how much of a douchebag he is, but the moment I see his face, the sharp words die on my tongue.
I don't quite know how I can tell that the person before me isn't the normal Shawn. He isn't the Shawn of one dinner once a month. He isn't the Shawn every second girl in our school craves. He isn't the Shawn of lies, deceit, and manipulation.
He's the Shawn who hadn’t come here expecting this level of intensity. He’s just been torn open and left vulnerable, insecure, and small. He stares at me as if he has never seen me before. As if he has never seen anything like me.
"I'm going to sleep on the bed. You get the sofa," I say, continuing as if I don't see what he's showing me. "I don't want you, Shawn,” I lie. “Don't ever try something like that again."
I know I’m cruel. I’ve led him on, and now I'm hurting him and I can't even begin to comprehend the myriad implications that my behavior will have. I say it this way because that’s how I say things, but I can almost feel the look he’s giving me, like a tangible presence in my own heart.
"What the hell, Sophie? Don't tell me you didn't feel that too!" He breathes out the words, blue eyes round, cheeks pink, his voice trembling with exasperation mixed with shock.
It would be easy to admit it, that his hands alone make me molten lava—but then I’d lose and maybe . . .
I’d have to change in ways I don’t want to.
"I didn't feel anything out of the usual," I say, getting into the bed and closing my eyes. "Now shut up. I need to sleep."
He wants me like crazy, more than he ever wanted me before. He wants me, but I've just gone and rejected him.
Shawn Henderson has never truly been rejected before. Not like this.
I'm that kind of person. I play dirty and break the rules.
I'm a monster.
This is far from over, but I won't let him win.
* * *
It's 5:50 a.m., and Operation Get Shawn Henderson Out of My House has commenced.
I get up and make the guest bed, and then trudge into the bathroom and wipe down the counter and the shower, straightening out the rug and throwing out the plastic wrapper of Shawn's toothbrush.
When all is in order and the evidence gone, I march up to where Shawn is sound asleep on the sofa.
It's a loveseat and too small for him. He's lying there rolled up into a ball, completely defenseless, his dark eyelashes resting on his cheeks, and his pink lips parted in the smallest of pouts. He doesn't have that snide, self-important expression he always wears, and he looks so much better without it.
I watch him and enjoy the silence. This is the first moment in our entire acquaintanceship in which I'm not irritated in his company. Looking at him now, so innocent and childlike, makes it easy to forget how much of a douchebag he actually is.
I hate to ruin the moment, but time is short and I want him out of here.
I take a step back, shifting my weight to my left leg, and prod him in the ribs with the toes of my right foot. He squirms and tries to roll over, but he's on a sofa, not a bed, and he simply comes crashing to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
I snort as he groans, blinking up at me, and I don't give him too much time to gather his senses. "Get up now. Get your shoes. You have two minutes to get out of here."
To my relief, he acts without a word, gathering up his stuff, and as I begin climbing the stairs, he's right behind me. From the top of the stairs, I scan the basement, making sure everything is in order, and turn off the light.
I face the door of the basement and draw a deep breath, placing my hand on the doorknob. Carefully and slowly, I open it just a crack and peek through. After several seconds, I exhale and open the door wide.
I creep out with Shawn keeping close to my back. I pause to scan the living room, too, and motion for him to follow. We quietly steal into the kitchen. I slowly unlock the back door, knowing that the key tends to creak if turned too quickly.
"Go over the hedge to the neighbor's and come to the street from there. That way, my mom won't see you when she opens the curtains," I whisper to Shawn urgently. He looks at me attentively with wide blue eyes, examines the low hedge I mentioned, and nods.
I don't know what his act is now, and I don't care. As long as he gets out of here and all this will just be another bad dream, I'm fine. "See you soon, Fee," he whispers, and brushes past me to get out the door. I'm ready to close it with my hand on the doorknob.
He pauses in the doorway, turns his head to me, and then, almost nonchalantly, almost as an afterthought, plants his lips on mine.
I should've known he'd do something like this. I retreat against the door, and he takes that as an invitation to press in, deepening his kiss. His tongue parts my lips and slides over my front teeth, brushing against my own tongue. He angles his hips to mine, and I pinch his elbow, meaning to push him back.
But I sort of don’t.
I allow his tongue to dart deeper into my mouth, lingering, savoring. My breath is caught in my chest and I shudder. I can’t believe I’m just letting this happen.
And that it feels so good.
He pulls back to show me his grin of triumph and rushes outside. He looks back at me just before he leaps over the neighbor's hedge and winks.
I watch him leave. It’s fine. He can have this one little victory.
I'm ambivalent about kissing. I've tried it out quite a bit over the years. I’ve even practiced kissing with Esmeralda. Kissing alone without lust or emotions backing it up is just wet. I've had kisses in the past that were downright unpleasant when the other party thought that eating half my face or biting off my lips was appropriate practice.
But Shawn . . . he’s a good kisser. He didn't get to where he did in the girl department without learning a trick or two. His lips were the right amount of firm and soft; his tongue had felt smooth against mine. I’m still hot as hell from before and cursing my body for burning with pent-up desire.
I liked it. I want more—and that makes me furious.
I close the door and lock it. Then, I pad across the kitchen and the living room and creep up the stairs. I can hear my parents' muffled voices from their bedroom down the hall, and then I open the door to my room and duck inside.
It was easier than I thought it would be. I sigh with relief.
Mission accomplished.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I hop down the stairs, dressed and ready for school, and find my parents sitting in the kitchen. "Morning, sweetie," Dad says weakly, mustering up his best fake smile. As always on a day of a court appearance, he looks awful. "Sleep well?"
"I've had better nights," I say while getting milk from the fridge and a bowl and a spoon from the drawers.
"Me too." My dad never gives me time to ask his questions back at him. He always asks me how I am just to tell me how he is.
I examine Dad's breakfast when I sit down at the table. Baked beans, egg-white omelet, one piece of toasted rye bread. I nod, satisfied that at least at home he's eating right.
&
nbsp; Dad sags with relief when his breakfast passes inspection.
My dad had a small heart attack over the summer. I don't trust him to not die suddenly, so I went over everything the doctor wrote and planned his meals for him. He usually listens to me; he's more afraid of me than of dying from heart failure.
What does that say about him? Or about mankind in general?
My mom looks up from her huge mug of black filter coffee, determined to show some kind of involvement in the conversation, but she just isn't a morning person.
She grunts like a caveman. Dad and I look over at her. She looks back into her coffee.
We accept Mom the way she is. It's the effort that counts, after all.
I pour milk over my cereal and crunch my breakfast in silence. Just another morning. Another weekday begins. The whole issue with Shawn never happened. I can't let my guard down, especially after that kiss. Even now, he's doubtlessly plotting his next move.
And he's likely going to step up his game.
But for now, I—
Ding, dong.
The doorbell causes the three of us to freeze and shatters the budding normalcy of this morning.
"Who could it be at this hour?" my mom asks in her sleepy zombie voice.
Who, indeed! I let my spoon fall from my fingers and set my palms flat against the tabletop. I eye the butter knife. Would it make a good murder weapon?
"It's probably Mr. Jacobs asking about the cat again," Dad says, putting down his fork and getting to his feet. Mr. Jacobs from down the street loses one of his cats every week, and they keep ending up in our yard for some reason.
It isn't Mr. Jacobs, I know.
I silently get to my feet and follow my dad to the front door.
Ding, dong, goes the bell once again.
"Coming," Dad calls, taking the last few steps and opening the door.
There stands Shawn Henderson, gloriously ruffled hair tossing in the autumn breeze, and shadowed blue eyes.
"Morning, Mr. Green," he says with the brightest smile I've ever seen him wear. It's the smile of a champion who’s one step closer to his destination. It's not about getting laid; for him, it's all about winning the game. That's what makes a player, a player. He thinks this is checkmate.
“Shawn! What a surprise! What brings you here so early in the morning?" My dad doesn't care what the answer to his question is. He's excited about the novelty of the situation. "Lizzy, it's Shawn, Bobby's boy." He turns around to report the shocking news to my mom.
Mom hobbles up to the door, coffee mug in hand—of course she can't leave it on the table. She forms an emotional attachment to her coffee. "Shawn," she coos.
"Mrs. Green, I've come to pick up Sophie for school," he says with a smug grin.
My eyebrow begins to twitch. Shawn sees this, and his smile deepens.
"Come in!" Dad cries excitedly.
"Isn't that Sophie's T-shirt?" Mom asks, suddenly fully awake. “And what happened to your face?”
The adorable puppy printed on my "Friends on Four" T-shirt stares at me with large, sad eyes from where it's plastered across Shawn's broad chest. I got it when Esmeralda pushed me into volunteering at a dog shelter freshman year. Hey, even potential sociopaths adore puppies. He couldn’t go to school covered in blood, and it's the only T-shirt I own that's big enough to fit Shawn.
I hate him, but there's a touch of respect too. This is the work of a person truly dedicated to his goals. I’m sure now that it was all an act. All of it, from the 4:20 wake-up call to right this very moment. All an elaborate scheme to bring me to this outcome. He knew my weaknesses and how to exploit them.
And I fell for it.
“The bruise is just from basketball practice yesterday. And actually,” Shawn says nervously. His smile becomes bashful as he steps up to me and hangs his arm over my shoulders, pulling me close against him. "Sophie and I are dating."
Oh.
Well.
Damn.
4
I Hate Hakuna Matata
He sits there, smug and happy in the car next to me. I want to grab that perfect thick dark hair of his and claw out his eyes with my fingernails.
But I can't right now, because he's driving us to school.
And if I do murder him, or even permanently maim him, I'll have a shitload of explaining to do. It all comes down to what I hate less: raising up a drama to the adults in my life, or participating in a teenage one.
Those are two very bad choices I get to choose from. And it's all his fault.
I tighten my ponytail. I'm not taking any risks. I don't want Shawn's hands in my hair ever again. I realize now that I came very close to just calling it quits and sleeping with him. Maybe that’s what I should’ve done. At least then I wouldn’t have to be sitting here and plotting murder.
By creating this lie, Shawn has just crossed every possible line.
"I'll enjoy dumping you." I finally break the silence. I know what he's going to say about it. I now know his plan from A to Z. I don't care. Dating in high school holds the same weight as dating in kindergarten. The only difference is that it isn't as cute.
"You know I'll be utterly heartbroken if you dump me," Shawn says matter-of-factly. “My dad hates seeing me sad. Your dad wanted this from day one. I can’t imagine how stressful it will be to have it all end so badly."
I don't put it past my dad to have had this type of motivation when he continuously forced me to attend those dinners. Where do you think I get the darker aspects of my soul from?
I can't find a way out of this. Does it even matter? It's not as if he can keep this up forever. Eventually, Shawn will get too horny and go chasing some other girl. That will be its own kind of revenge.
He relishes in my silence, his evil grin stamped across his face. "Or you can get your 'Get Out of Jail Early' card."
"It's supposed to be 'Free.'"
"Nothing in life is free."
His words eliminate every remaining morsel of respect I had toward him. I scan his profile. Did he just say what I think he said? I know he didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but I may as well exploit it.
"You just tried to blackmail me into having sex with you," I say. “You’re pathetic.”
"I didn't—" His hands tighten on the steering wheel when he realizes that, in fact, he did. A boy as hot as Shawn Henderson should not be blackmailing someone for sex.
"You were implying that if I slept with you now, you'd let me out of this situation early." I’m a tiny bit satisfied that at least I have this small victory. I shake my head from side to side. “You’re sick."
He takes his eyes off the road for just a second to stare at me. He's not smiling anymore. I enjoy the clearly flabbergasted look he shoots my way. "Sorry. It’s not like that. All I meant was that we don't have to drag it out like this. Fee, you were burning when I played with your hair. And that kiss was pure fire. It's there between us, so why fight it?”
“Oh my God. You’re such a smooth talker, Shawn."
He smirks and once again assumes his self-satisfied air. "You're enjoying this."
Huh? What? I am not. He’s delusional.
"You want to play games. You don’t want this to end fast. You want to see what I've got up my sleeve.”
"The only thing I want is for you to leave me the fuck alone."
"It's nice to see that you're as messed up as the rest of us. Fee, you're not honest with yourself."
"What's the point, Shawn? You'll never win. I'll never sleep with you."
He nods. We're nearing the school. In about seven minutes, this car ride will be over. "Maybe you're right," he says quietly.
"What?" I must not be hearing right. "It sounded like you just said I'm right."
“If it was just about the sex, it’d be pointless,” he says, stopping the car. We're not yet at school. I back away in case he tries something funny.
But he just looks at me intensely. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's being sincere. “I want y
ou to want me until you can’t handle it anymore. I had to lie about us dating because I need more time than one dinner a month to seduce you. You'll just have to put up with it until the twenty-fifth of December. I promise we can break up by then no matter what happens.”
If he’s being honest, then I can too. There’s only one response I can make. “But, why the hell bother?”
“Why do you think?” He leans in toward me, his smile deepening because he's happy with what he sees on my face. "You're going to love it, Fee.”
There’s something about him that lures me in, as if he’s the snake charmer and I’m the cobra. But since he has one win on me, I can’t become weak for him now. I muster up a look that will tell him how I hate him with the force of my eyes.
He comes closer, about to kiss me, but I flick my finger at the bridge of his nose, right where it's most swollen.
He cries out in pain, recoiling back and bringing his hands to cover his face.
"You're going to regret you ever met me, Shawn," I say, getting out of the car and slamming the door as hard as I can.
I arrange my backpack on my back, slide my fingers into the front pockets of my jeans, and begin the march toward school. I'm in luck because we stopped right next to the shortcut. It's a narrow pedestrian passage that cuts from the street we're on to one closer to our school. Shawn can't follow me in his car.
I trudge down the other street, my thoughts reeling. If I didn’t know any better, it seemed like Shawn confessed to having feelings for me.
The thought of anyone in love with me gives me the creeps. I need to set him off this path and fast. I just don't think I can remember to care enough about this to be invested in it to the extent of orchestrating a real plan.
"Morning, Sophie," says a voice behind me.
His voice, it's him. My heart gives a jolt in my chest. I turn slowly, momentarily dazzled by the play of the sun on his golden hair.
Landon.
The idea strikes me like a bolt to the heart. I don’t have to orchestrate a whole plan. Winning against Shawn is as simple as sleeping with someone else.