“Tell me no.”
I don’t.
“Evan…” Sebastian warns.
Instead, I push up on my toes, closing the distance between us. Right before my lips land on his, his eyes screw shut. I kiss his closed mouth, and he stands there, unmoving, as I take my time exploring. With one last kiss to his top lip, I pull away, biting my bottom lip. Sebastian opens his eyes, searching mine for a moment before he slides his palm behind my head and crashes his lips to mine. I gasp, and his tongue takes advantage, sweeping inside.
Oh my God. This is so much different. So much better. I timidly slide my tongue against his, and he groans. Gaining confidence, I stand taller on my tiptoes and circle my arms around his neck, his leather jacket creaking as I bring my elbows to rest on his shoulders. Sebastian doesn’t hesitate, his hands sliding down to the outside of my thighs and lifting me. My legs wrap around his waist, and my back presses into the rough, crumbling wall behind me. His jeans feel rough on the insides of my soft thighs, and I feel pressure building between my legs. Sebastian presses his hips into me, and I moan into the kiss, never having felt anything like it before.
I break away from the kiss, my head falling against the wall behind me with a thud, and Sebastian continues rocking into me while he open-mouth kisses the column of my throat, his hands moving to cup my ass. Our harsh breathing is the only sound. This is getting out of control fast, but I’d rather die than stop now. I squeeze my legs around him, trying to get closer, and his hands creep lower and lower, until his fingertips touch my panties. They don’t pry; they just glide back and forth on the hem, making me even crazier.
“I can feel you seeping through your underwear,” he says, but his voice sounds too pained to be unaffected. The way he taunts me, the way he dares to touch me so freely, as if we’re not complete strangers, only stokes the flames spreading inside me.
Like a bucket of ice water has landed on me, the sound of glass crunching has us both whipping toward the door. Elliot stands there, looking sheepish, his foot hovering above the broken glass that decorates the patio. How long has he been there?
“What the fuck are you looking at?” Sebastian barks. I try to drop my legs from his waist to stand, but Sebastian is in no hurry, slowly lowering me, hands still on the backs of my thighs. I’m thankful for the night sky, my skin red-hot from both lust and embarrassment.
“Sorry. Eros told me to come see what’s taking you guys so long.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrow into slits, like he doesn’t believe him.
“I better get back to the hotel,” I say, pushing past Sebastian’s hold, but my purse gets snagged on something behind me, halting me in my tracks, and the contents spill to the ground. I turn, freeing it from the rusty nail protruding from the wall. Elliot bends his knees, reaching for the pile, but Sebastian stops him with a look.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he snaps. Elliot holds up his palms before disappearing back inside.
Sebastian scoops up my things, handing them to me. “I’m giving you a ride,” he states, not asks. I’m a little disappointed that he doesn’t try to get me to hang out longer, but I don’t show it.
“I’m fine,” I insist, scrolling through the missed calls and texts from my parents.
“I wasn’t asking.”
I’m about to cave—knowing sooner is better than later when it comes to facing my parents—when blue and red flashing lights shine through the trees in the distance.
“Fuck,” Sebastian spits, turning for the door. “Boys! We got a problem.”
They waltz out, without a care in the world, coming to stand like sentries, arms folded across their chests…all except for Elliot who looks like he’s about to crap his pants. Elliot takes off into the trees, and Eros scoffs. “Pussy.”
Five police cars come to a stop, shining their lights on us.
“All this for a little B and E?” Eros laughs.
“Evangeline Thorne?” one of the policemen shouts. My eyes widen.
“Yeah?”
“Are you hurt?”
“No…” I frown in confusion.
“Is anyone armed?”
“No.” I scoff like it’s out of the question before considering my company. “I mean, not that I know of.”
“Hands where I can see ’em.” The officer shines his flashlight on the broken glass around our feet, then up to the window.
Suddenly, it’s abundantly clear what’s going on here. I’m not sure how they knew I was here, but I know they’re here for me, and whatever happens next is my fault. I turn to Sebastian, trying to apologize with my eyes, but he confuses my guilt for fear and reaches down to squeeze my hand in a comforting gesture.
All five officers approach, and Sebastian, Eros, Lathan, and Tres reluctantly put their hands behind their backs, as if they know where this is going and they know better than to protest.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my panic building as one of the officers comes for me.
“Call her parents,” he says over his shoulder to another officer, ignoring me. “Let her know that her daughter is safe, but she’ll have to come down to the station to pick her up.”
“Parents?” Tres asks, eyebrows pulled together like he’s somehow confused.
“Yeah. Parents. The kind that track their kid’s phone. Something to think about the next time you decide to involve a minor with wealthy parents in your delinquent ways.”
“Minor,” Sebastian states—not asks—cutting his eyes at me, but thoughts of my impending trip to jail override any embarrassment about disappointing him.
“Fucking awesome,” Eros says, giving a humorless laugh. “If we get some kind of bullshit charge for harboring a runaway, I’m beating your ass.”
And for the second time tonight, I’m placed in handcuffs.
“HONESTLY, EVANGELINE. WHAT WERE YOU thinking? Running off with carnival people?” Mom asks from the passenger seat of the car they rented as my dad drives in stone-cold silence. As the daughter of the state treasurer and one of the top orthopedic surgeons in the country, I don’t get out much. Image has always been important to my mother. My dad is more laid-back when it comes to appearances, but he’s a little overprotective. I roll my eyes, my forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window.
“They’re people, Mom. Like you and me,” I say tiredly, too exhausted after a night in a holding cell to care that I’m mouthing off to her. “They didn’t do anything. I was just having fun.”
Apparently, when I turned my phone on, my parents were able to track my location. My parents called the police, knowing they could get to me sooner. I should feel bad for scaring them. And I will. Once I’ve slept.
It could’ve been worse. I was able to get off with a measly hundred-dollar fine for trespassing and no community service seeing as how I’m an out-of-state minor—one with pushy, rich parents who kept threatening to sue everyone at that. Mom even wanted to press charges on Sebastian and company for kidnapping, despite the fact that I repeatedly told them I was there of my own free will. I’m pretty sure the police just wanted us to go away at that point.
Somehow, I don’t think Sebastian and his family got off as easy. I heard something about their bikes not being street legal, whatever that means, on top of the breaking and entering on private property. My stomach curls with guilt. If it wasn’t for me turning my phone on, none of them would be there.
Once we pull up to the hotel, I grab my purse, dead phone, and Sebastian’s leather jacket that I wasn’t able to give back—but kept me warm in the freezing holding cell—and head up to the room, walking ahead of my parents. I should be kissing their feet, begging for forgiveness, but all I can think about is sleep. They catch up to me at the elevator, and silence stretches between us for eight floors, my gaze pointed straight at my dirt-covered shoes.
The elevator dings, and wordlessly we file out. My feet pad against the plush, over-perfumed carpet, until we come to our room. I dig into my purse, but I don’t find my room ke
y. I must not have grabbed it after my purse fell.
“Thomas canceled our flight and booked the first flight out tomorrow. We’ll talk about this later. Get some sleep,” Mom says once we’ve stepped inside, her voice stern but somehow soft. That remorse? It’s starting to set in now as I take in the dark circles under her eyes that not even the best makeup could hide, and her usually perfectly coiffed hair that hangs limply around her shoulders. I look to my dad. His loosened tie and stretched out collar. Red eyes that refuse to meet mine and an empty bottle of scotch on the nightstand. I knew I was safe—mostly. But they didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I say, this time with sincerity. I wrap my arm around my dad’s middle, and he squeezes me back. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
“I’m your father. I’ll never not worry about you.” He kisses the top of my head, and I know all isn’t forgiven, but it’s a start. I make my way into my mom’s open arms next. She’s overbearing, but she means well.
“You sure you don’t want to shower first, honey?” she asks, holding my cheeks in her palms, rubbing her thumbs across them, as if I have dirt on my face. I probably do. Mom has a way of insulting you sweetly. Like how she tells me I’ll grow into my Brooke Shields eyebrows. Image is everything when you’re a Thorne. She eyes the leather jacket draped over my arm with disgust, knowing full well it isn’t mine, but doesn’t say a word about it.
“A shower can wait,” I say, withholding my eye roll. “I just really need that bed.” I point to the adjoining room where I’ve been sleeping during our stay. She nods, and I walk through the door that separates our rooms, closing it behind me.
I catch my reflection on the decorative mirror on the wall. My braids are a disaster—rogue strands of blonde hair have come loose, and I do have smudges of dirt on my face. My makeup has worn off, exposing the freckles across my nose, and I bring my fingers to my lips—the lips that you’d never know by looking at them just had their first kiss—and a small smile spreads across my face at thoughts of kissing Sebastian.
I make my way to the bed and toss my stuff down onto the other side before I slide under the blankets, never feeling anything more comfortable in my life. I drift to sleep, replaying the first half of the night in my mind before everything went wrong. The carnival, the Globe of Death, riding on Sebastian’s motorcycle…the kiss, and I keep coming to the same conclusion.
Worth it.
The hot shower beats down on my back, doing nothing to wake me up, despite sleeping all day. I got back to my room before sunrise and slept until well after sunset, but I still feel drained. Part of me is dying to get home, and the other part is almost sad at the thought of never seeing Sebastian again. I’m under no illusion that anything could come of whatever last night was, even if I didn’t get him arrested. Boys who kiss like Sebastian aren’t interested in being long-distance text buddies or pen pals with inexperienced high school girls.
I’m just massaging conditioner into my hair when I hear it. A loud thud. I pause, my hands stilling in my hair as I listen closer. I can’t be sure if it’s coming from our room or someone else’s. When I don’t hear anything for another twenty seconds or so, I finish rinsing my hair. I turn off the water and step out of the shower, my wet feet landing on the cold, hard floor as I reach for my towel.
“Gavin!” I hear my mother’s scream, and my blood runs cold. I freeze for half a second before my body catches up with my thoughts, and I run out of the bathroom, sliding on the slippery floor, but I right myself before I go down.
As quietly as I can, I crack the adjoining door open just far enough to see into my parents’ room. It’s in shambles—chairs tipped over, broken glass on the floor—but my parents are nowhere to be seen. I run back to my bed, scouring the blankets for my phone before remembering that it’s dead.
Shit!
I don’t know what’s happening, but my gut tells me it wasn’t a lovers’ quarrel. My parents don’t fight. And I’ve never heard my mom sound so…terrified.
I quickly turn for the desk, remembering the hotel phone, and dial the police.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I think someone’s broken into our hotel room. I’m at the Legacy Inn, room eight-oh-two.” I slam the receiver down before she asks me any more questions, then I dig through my suitcase, throwing on the first thing my hand touches.
My heart pounds in my chest as I dart out of the main room and into the hall, searching for any sign of my parents. I look down the expansive hall to my left, then right, not knowing where to start, until I hear my dad’s voice yell out.
I follow the sound to the end of the hall and push open the door to the stairwell. I look over the railing to see my dad a few floors down, sprawled out with his leg bent at an unnatural angle, and my mom on her knees next to him.
“Dad!” I scream, my sweaty palms gripping the railing for dear life.
“Call nine-one-one,” my mom instructs with urgency in her voice.
“They’re on their way,” I explain, hurrying down the stairs. “Is he okay? What happened?”
“Evangeline, go back to the room.”
I ignore her pleas, rushing toward them. My bare foot catches something sharp, but the pain doesn’t even register.
“Dad?” I ask. My voice sounds uncharacteristically small, even to my own ears.
“I’m okay,” he groans, reaching for his leg, but my mom tells him not to move.
“Someone broke into our room,” my mom explains.
“Did they hurt you?” I ask, assessing them both for damage. My dad’s leg doesn’t look too hot, but other than that, they appear to be unscathed.
“He got away with a good chunk of cash. Your mom’s jewelry. We won’t know what else until we go through everything.”
“How did he get in?” I wonder out loud. It doesn’t make any sense. How did this guy get in undetected?
“We were asleep. We didn’t even hear anyone come in,” my mom says, sounding dazed. “It’s almost like…” she trails off, and I hear a familiar sound. One I heard for the first time last night. A dirt bike. It’s loud at first, then it fades as it gets farther away.
“Almost like what?” I ask, as the pieces of the puzzle start to lock in place.
“Almost like they had a key.”
My purse spilling. My room key with the room number written on the envelope that boasted of The Legacy Inn Resort. Sebastian handing me my things.
This wasn’t random. This was revenge.
One year later
“GROSS, EVAN. I KNOW YOU’RE too cool for us anymore, but you couldn’t have at least changed out of your pom uniform for the end-of-the-year party?” my friend Savannah, better known to her minions as Savvy, asks with her nose scrunched up in disgust. And I use the word friend loosely. She’s dressed in an ankle-length flowy skirt with a slit clear up to her thigh, a bandeau top that exposes her lean stomach, and gladiator sandals.
Today was the last day of school. I’m officially a senior. The entire school is here for one last hoorah at the lake, even though we all know everyone will still be going to the same parties at the same houses, hooking up with the same people all summer long. Everyone, that is, except me.
“Not everyone sweats like a farm animal, Sav,” I snap back, and she rolls her eyes while our friends try to hold back their laughs. The truth is, I can’t wait to burn this uniform and be done with our dance team. I forgot my change of clothes at home, and I don’t have the gas money to get all the way there and back to the lake for the party. Plus, home is a place I avoid almost as much as the people inside it these days. But they don’t know that. No one does. They only see what I want them to see, with the exception of my only genuine friend, Drew.
“Oh, I keep forgetting,” Chloe, the peacemaker of the group, interjects, trying to change the subject, I’m sure. “My mom keeps hounding me to ask you if your mom changed her number. I guess she’s been trying to get ahold of her for a couple of weeks and she hasn�
�t heard back.”
“Huh,” I say, feigning confusion. “She’s just been super busy lately. I’ll tell her to give her a call.” Lie lie lie. Well, not technically. She has been busy with work and dealing with our entire family imploding. Chloe nods and smiles, her platinum curls bouncing with the movement.
“Are you still coming to Cabo with us?” Savvy asks, already knowing the answer.
“I told you. I’m going on vacation with my parents all summer.” Another lie. I’ll be spending my summer working my ass off in the next town over. Honestly, I’m not even sad about it. It’s a relief knowing I’ll be able to end the charade soon. Savvy eyes me warily, looking for clues of deception. I raise a brow, staring right back, daring her to call me out. She backs down, like always. Until the next round.
“Hey, baby,” a voice I know to be Ethan’s coos into my ear. A red plastic cup in his hand, he wraps his arms around my waist. I can smell the beer on his breath, and I casually slip out of his embrace. Ethan wants me—and just about every other girl with a pulse. He’s not my boyfriend, not really. But I let him play the part. After months of making out with every pretty face that came along, I decided Ethan would do. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t and all that.
Ethan keeps other guys off my ass and keeps me warm on the nights when I need to feel some sort of human connection. I like to think of it as recycling. You know, keep the number of hookups to a minimum. It’s a win-win. That is, until he gets too drunk and handsy and pushes for more. More, meaning the thing I won’t give up. Not anymore, at least. I think our time is coming to an end. I know he feels it, too, but instead of letting it go, Ethan holds on tighter.
“You’re drunk,” I accuse, crossing my arms over my chest.
“And you’re hot.” He chugs the remainder of his beer before tossing the cup into the bonfire and pulling me in close again.
Rewrite the Stars Page 3