Hated (Hearts of Stone #3)

by Christine Manzari

  Frankie’s hands fluttered uselessly at her sides as if trying to force herself to make some sort of appropriate response. She was dressed in the same tank as the night before, but the shorts were gone, and she had nothing on but a pair of black lacy panties. She also wasn’t wearing a bra which was like the cherry on top of my perfect prank. I was feasting on the sight of her, and it probably would have taken a five-alarm fire to get me to blink let alone walk away.

  Frankie lifted her chin until her gaze found mine. I was expecting fury or anger, but her eyes were filled with heat.

  Or was that devious cunning? Either way, I was in trouble.

  She reached out and tore the paper away with one quick swipe of her hand. With nothing separating us anymore, she stepped out of her room, the popcorn crunching under her feet, as she approached me.

  She raised her hands, fisted them in my shirt, and then she was pressing me backward. Despite the fact that she was half my weight, I didn’t fight her. My breath punched out of me as she slammed me against the wall and then her hands let go of my shirt only to grab the sides of my face roughly. She pulled me down until our mouths met in a kiss that was a lot like the one we had in the kitchen. There was nothing sweet or tender about it at all. It was like the moment a spark falls into a pile of dry leaves and fire flares up like a starving and treacherous monster that consumes everything in sight. Burning. Hungry. Unstoppable.

  There was four years of pent up desire raging between us and, like air feeding flames, the fire of that longing was racing through me leaving no thoughts…only want. The more my mind tried to remind me of what she’d done and how she’d hurt me, the more I wanted her closer. To never let her leave.

  Frankie’s hands slid down to my jaw and then shifted around the back of my neck, holding my mouth to hers, causing my body to curl over and around her. My fingers gripped the slim curve of her waist, my thumbs trailing her sides as my hands moved lower to cup her hips and pull her closer.

  When she leaned in and her body went flush and tight against me, it was like something snapped inside. Like gasoline had been poured on the ashes of our past only for it to roar back to life in a painful inferno of hate and love and hurt and betrayal.

  It was like coming home to be able to touch her again. I kissed her hard and deep until she gasped for breath. My mouth followed the slight tilt of her head and then I was sucking her lower lip into my mouth, biting just enough to make her moan the way I remembered. Then my lips were on her throat, going for the sweet slope of her neck where I knew my kisses would make her shudder and unravel in my arms.

  When she said my name on an exhale, my heart lurched like it could reach around her and tuck her deep inside to keep forever.

  My hands went the swell of her ass, and gently lifted until her legs did as I wanted and wrapped around my waist. Her mouth was on mine again, begging mindlessly between kisses as I walked into her bedroom and waded through the drifts of popcorn. Frankie squeezed with her legs, her kissing becoming more frantic, her hips moving against me, as I got closer to the bed.

  When I set her down, she kept her hands linked around my neck, and her feet hooked behind my back to pull me down with her. I rested my weight on my elbows and knees, but Frankie wriggled beneath me, arching and trying to pull me closer. It was taking every ounce of control I had not to rip off the flimsy pieces of fabric she was wearing.

  “Frankie,” I murmured against her mouth, half in protest, half in urging.

  Her hands left the back of my neck only to fumble with the hem of my shirt as she tried to yank it over my head. Breaking the kiss, I pushed up on one elbow to reach behind me with the other hand and pull the t-shirt off in one vicious tug. She grabbed it out of my hand and tossed it to the side as if she was preventing me from putting it back on. I held myself above her and gazed down, noticing the flush of her cheeks and the way her eyes darkened as they swept over me.

  Her fingers lightly traced the muscle of my arm, brushed over my shoulder, and then trailed down my chest, her warm palm flattening against my skin. “You look… different,” she whispered.

  I was different. But I didn’t say that. “I was just a boy.”

  Her eyes flicked up to meet mine. “My boy.”

  There was a twist in my heart, but before I could pull away or do any of the things my mind was warning me to do, she pushed herself up onto an elbow, threaded her fingers into my hair, and pulled me down into another hot kiss.

  When I’d tossed her on the bed, her legs had fallen to the sides to make room for me between them, but now her heels hooked behind my knees and urged me closer. I gave in and pressed against her, hard against soft, and she gasped into the kiss. And then our hips were moving, and I was grinding into her like it was the first time making out with her.

  My palm was spread over her breast, my thumb teasing and pulling the fabric of her tank lower, causing her nipple to harden under my touch. I was rocking into her and Frankie’s body moved underneath me, riding every thrust of my hips with a roll of her own. When her hand slipped into the waistband of my shorts and she started to inch them down, I mirrored the action and twisted my fingers into the tiny slip of fabric that stretched over her hip.

  She broke the kiss, and at first I thought she was going to tell me to stop, but she said, “Condom?”

  My fingers stilled, and my hips did as well. “I don’t have one. Not here.”

  I shifted away, and she held on tightly to my bicep. “I saw some when I was cleaning. They’re in the attic. In one of Pauly’s boxes.”

  Cringing, I shook my head and chuckled. “Mentioning your brother’s name? Total mood killer, Frankie.” My voice was still raw with need, and her eyes flashed, reflecting it back at me.

  “Just wait here. I’ll get it.” She started to wriggle out from underneath me, but the idea of sitting in her room, waiting awkwardly for her to get back wasn’t something I was going to do.

  I sighed and pushed back onto my knees. “I’ll get it. Which box?”

  She bit her lip as if to argue but then gave in. She quickly explained where the box was, and I fumbled across the room through the popcorn. Reaching the hall, I jogged down to the end and pulled open the door to reveal the stairs that went to the attic.

  The first thing I noticed was that the risers, which used to be just worn wood, were now covered in carpet. I walked up slowly, and the smell of paint was like a smack in the face. I reached the top, and if I hadn’t known I was in the DiGorgio attic, I never would have recognized it. The old rustic wooden floor was now covered in plush, wall-to-wall carpeting. A new ceiling fan had been installed, and the walls were a fresh coat of light blue.

  Boxes were piled neatly along the walls, labeled with the items inside. Frankie and I had spent much of our childhood playing in the old rafters, hiding from her brothers, making up games, and talking about our dreams. But the magic of the old, forgotten space was now gone and had been replaced with a pretty, generic makeover.

  I stood in the middle of the room gazing around, the shock of losing another piece of our past together tearing away at my heart. I took a few steps toward the boxes and read the labels on the side.

  Pauly.

  Jimmy.

  Tommy.

  Frankie.

  Yard Sale.

  Yard Sale.

  Yard Sale.

  There were more boxes labeled “Yard Sale” than anything else. I flipped open the lid of one of the boxes and found a lot of the old figurines and knickknacks that Nana had left around the house as decorations. Another box held dishes. And another had clothes.

  I even found one with Frankie’s old stereo and her collection of CD’s. The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Californication” was sitting on top. I snapped the lid of the box shut, the old feeling of hurt and betrayal burning in my chest. I ran my hand back over my hair and took a few steps back until I was in the center of the room again.

  This used to be our hideout, our special place. And someday soon it would be
someone’s office. Or an extra bedroom. I pressed both palms against my eyes as my mind raced.

  What was I doing? Frankie and her brothers were planning to sell this house. What did I think was going to happen? That I’d just sleep with her and everything would go back to the way it was? That she’d stay in the house and everything that happened between us would be magically fixed?

  I was so fucking stupid. It’s not like she actually cared. Not anymore. If she had, she wouldn’t have ditched me in Vegas. She wouldn’t have disappeared for years without a trace.

  I spun around and headed for the stairs, racing down them and bursting into the hallway like I was escaping a burning building. Popcorn was spilling out of Frankie’s doorway into the hall and there was a trail of it that led from her room to the attic.

  My hand was on the newel post, and I was about to take my first step downstairs when I heard my name. I looked over my shoulder to see Frankie leaning out of her room, a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. She was still in that nearly see through tank top and tiny black panties.

  Her eyebrows dipped low when she saw me. “You’re leaving?” she asked around the toothbrush.

  I turned to face her, keeping my hand on the top of the post. “I think it’s best.”

  She tilted her head in confusion and took the brush out of her mouth. “For who?”

  The tone of her voice held a layer of pain, and my first instinct was to apologize, but then I remembered in a few weeks the house would belong to someone else and she’d be gone again.

  “This is just temporary,” I said, gesturing between us. “You’re fixing up this house and you’re going to sell it so what’s the point of us even…bothering?”

  Agitated, I put my hands on my hips, and my head dropped as I shook it in frustration.

  “It was so simple for you to leave and not look back. I mean, look how easily you wiped out our entire childhood.” I pointed toward the attic door. “You packed it up in boxes, and you’re going to hock it in a yard sale. I just…” I sighed and shook my head again before looking up. “There’s no point in…” I gestured between us and then shrugged.

  Frankie stepped out of her room and crossed her arms, but not in anger. It was almost as if she was protecting herself. She swallowed and then bit the inside of her cheek to control the quivering of her mouth. “So what? You were just going to leave? You were going to walk away without even saying goodbye?”

  I held her gaze for so long I almost couldn’t bear to speak. But I finally said, “You did.”

  The expression that crossed her face could only be described as destroyed.

  I’d done that. And it gutted me to be that person. To wield that kind of pain on someone.

  I turned from her and hurried down the steps before she could see that I was just as ruined as she was.

  The sun was bright, the day holding promise for beautiful summer weather, but my mood was dark. Maybe I was the one who should have been wearing the black jumpsuit for Dueling Cellos because what I’d just done to Frankie was cruel. I might have thought I wanted to see her suffer, but when I finally saw the way my careless words hurt her like no one else’s ever had, I knew that Dallas was never the bad guy in this story. He was never the one who destroyed my future with Frankie.

  I was.

  I chose to leave first.

  — FRANKIE —

  13. GLITTER BALLS

  FIVE YEARS AGO — AUGUST 2012

  Austin’s door banged open and I looked up from where I was lounging on his bed flipping through my motocross magazine. He had walked in with an armload of moving boxes and a roll of packing tape. He angrily kicked the door shut behind him and then tossed it all on the floor. The pair of scissors he’d been carrying landed point down into the hardwood and left a huge gouge.

  I’d heard the arguing coming from downstairs but had stayed up in his room. Austin wasn’t normally the one fighting with his mom, that was Dallas’s job, and it worried me to hear him raise his voice. It had taken all of my willpower not to go down and be at his side, to make sure he was all right. But going down there would have only made things worse because, as they said in 10 Things I Hate About You, Chantel Stone hated me with the fire of a thousand suns. Chantel Stone was also a shrew so that hatred didn’t bother me all that much, but I usually did my best not to make things worse for my best friend where his mother was concerned.

  I laughed to myself. Was I even allowed to call Austin my best friend anymore? There wasn’t really a good word to describe what we were to one another. I confided in him and trusted him with my life, but we were more than just friends. We were dating, but he was more to me than just a boyfriend. Lover? Partner? Soulmate? True love? Better half?

  It all sounded so cheesy and manufactured, but I couldn’t deny that there was this feeling that we were meant to be together.

  I once read a story about a Greek playwright who claimed that humans originally had four arms, four legs, and two faces. Fearing the power of such powerful beings, Zeus split the mortals in half and cast the halves asunder, condemning humans to spend their lives searching for the rest of their soul. According to the story, the separation left both halves with a desperate yearning to be whole again.

  I knew it was just a story, something to explain why people felt such intense need for one another. But there were times when I held Austin’s hand, or saw him smile, or listened to him play music and I knew…I knew he was the other half of me. I never felt lonely when he was around…just whole.

  That’s why the sight of those boxes, the evidence of his impending move, threatened to bring me to tears.

  Frankie DiGorgio doesn’t cry, I reminded myself.

  “Need some help?” I asked.

  Austin sighed and put his hands on his hips, glaring at the boxes. I didn’t ask him what was wrong.

  I heard the front door shut, and Austin continued to frown in what I assumed was a wish of death upon the packing supplies. Outside the sounds of an engine rumbled to life and then a few minutes later, it was quiet again. His parents were gone.

  Finally, he lifted his gaze to look at me.

  “Need any help?” I repeated. “I’m the queen of organization.”

  He finally grinned and stalked toward me, stepping on the boxes and not even caring as they bent and warped under his weight. He shook his head.

  “You may be the queen of a lot of things, but organization isn’t one of them. I’ve seen what you do to your clean laundry,” he said. “Balling it up and tossing it into your drawer from across the room doesn’t count as organizing it.”

  “And yet,” I said, holding up a finger, “it is very effective at getting the job done.”

  He reached the bed and leaned over me, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of my hips. “The only thing I need right now is you.”

  “Chantel might not agree,” I bantered back, tilting my head to brush a soft kiss on his lips.

  “Chantel is out for the night, along with everyone else.” He kissed me soundly, forcing me to lay back onto the pillows. The pile of comic books he’d had at the foot of his bed tipped over and scattered across the comforter.

  “She thinks you’re packing up your clothes.” I bit his lip and reached up to run my fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

  He nudged my knees apart and knelt on the bed as he hovered over me. His finger slipped into the strap of my tank top and he teased it down over my shoulder, leaving a trail of hot kisses on my skin as he went. “The only clothes I care about are the ones we’re wearing, and the only place I want to see them is on my bedroom floor.”

  I gripped the back of his head and pulled his mouth to mine again, kissing him until we both had to come up for air. “I think I can make that happen,” I said breathlessly.

  I tugged at the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up and over his shoulders. I balled it up and tossed it across the room where it landed on the messy stack of boxes. I did the same with my shirt and bra,
and then reached for Austin’s shorts.

  He grabbed my hand to stop me and then circled both of my wrists with his fingers, lifting my arms over my head. His gaze hungrily roamed over my naked skin, and I had the impression he was trying to feast as much as possible, like a bear ready to go into hibernation.

  Without taking his eyes off me, he stood up and yanked down his shorts and boxers in one smooth motion and chucked them behind him. Then he knelt on the floor and grabbed the waistband of my shorts, easing them over my hips and down my legs with agonizing gentleness.

  Once my pants were gone, though, he didn’t move to the bed. He hooked his hands behind my knees and yanked me toward him where he was kneeling on the floor. He draped my legs over his shoulders, and then he leaned forward, his fingers dipping inside me a moment before his tongue followed in a lazy sweep of warmth and wetness. And then he was kissing me…there…right above where his fingers plunged inside me.

  He’d never done this before, and if I had been able to form coherent words, I would have scolded him for holding back. Because holy fuck, his mouth and fingers had my hips twisting and rolling with every delicious touch.

  There was a good chance I’d be embarrassed later by how loudly I moaned and how desperate I sounded when I said his name, but when I lifted my head to look down at him, he was looking back, watching me as if I was his fucking inspiration and he wanted to create something epic.

  And because I wanted to believe that together we were something epic, I dug my fingers into his hair and held him to me, my body lifting and rolling as I moaned and begged him not to stop.

  Those talented fingers of his moved faster, thrusting in time with my hips and I could feel my climax building like the crescendo of a song. He might have been a musical prodigy, but his hands and fingers and mouth were turning my body into his masterpiece.

  I didn’t let go of Austin’s hair until the first orgasm slammed into me like a shooting star falling to earth, rocking me with tremors and scattering stardust in its wake. My head jerked back, and I closed my eyes, my breath stuttering with each echo of pleasure. My climax was still rippling through me when I felt him lift my legs and swing me around so I was lengthwise on his bed. The mattress dipped as he knelt over me. I opened my eyes to see him grinning.