by Ella Goode
I throw the blanket off and head to the bathroom. I wash my face before grabbing an oversized hoodie and pulling it over my head as I make my way to the kitchen.
“Chandler.” Three knocks sound at the door. Without him saying my name, I already know who it is.
“You alone?” I ask, my fingers resting on the lock. I can’t see Berkley right now. He’s going to do some let’s be friends crap. I can’t. The only way to get these feelings to stop is by staying away from him. Out of sight out of mind? Doubtful.
“No, I'm having a giant party out here. Gonna make the news for sure. I’m calling it Pandemonium.” I snort a laugh, opening the door. Davis stands there with his boyish grin that breaks girls’ hearts.
“You look better.” I step back, letting him in.
“I showered.” He winks at me. “Now I need food.” He goes for the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and handing it to me before getting one for himself.
“How are the parentals hanging in there?”
“Busy but happy they can help in some way.” He nods in understanding. “What do you want to eat?”
“What do you have?”
“I have some homemade chicken noodle soup with egg noodles. There are mashed potatoes too for you to put it over.” He lets out a groaning sound, and I know I have a winner. “You doing okay?” I look at Davis over my shoulder as I start to get his food ready to heat up.
“I guess I’m wallowing.” He shrugs his shoulder.
“Davis, no one is playing football this year and life will go back to normal. It’s not over. Do your classwork so you don’t fail, and you’ll be able to play in college. I wouldn't be surprised if you still get offered something. They have to pick up new recruits, don’t they? It's not like others are playing for them to watch.” The microwave dings. I take the plate over to him, setting it down.
“Davis.” I reach up and push some of his hair back that he clearly didn't mess with when he got out of the shower. “I’ll let you wallow in this for a few more days. Then it's done.” I give him a stern look. He reaches up, grabbing my hand.
“Using my own words against me?” He squeezes my hand, a smile spreading across his face.
“I’ll use whatever I have to.” I lean down and kiss his cheek. “Because I love you. Now eat.”
Chapter Seven
Berkley
It’s been three days. Three days since I had to pull over on the side of the road all because Chandler told me she had a crush. I can’t believe I ever had a crush on you. That sentence played over and over in my head until I couldn’t see, and my hands were shaking. I stopped the car and banged my head against the wheel. Past tense. She had a crush. It doesn’t mean anything now. There was a window in time when, maybe, I could have had her. I think back, trying to remember if she ever showed any interest in me, but every time I see her, Davis is at her side.
My best friend who didn’t blink that night when we came home from a baseball game to find my dad banging his secretary on the dining room table. My best friend who prevented me from cracking a brass candlestick over my old man’s head and probably kept me from jail. My best friend who pretended the secretary was his girlfriend so my mom didn’t find out what was going on in her house. My best friend who has never spoken a word about that night, not even as a joke.
My best friend whom I want to decapitate right now. His head is in Chandler’s lap. Her hand is combing through his hair. His eyes are closed, and she’s laughing at something Mike Benjamin said about our AP Government teacher. Davis makes a sound, something low and satisfied, and my eyes see red.
Chandler leans down and her long, chestnut hair falls like a curtain around their faces.
Snap!
“Dude.”
Her head comes up. I zero in on her lips. Had she been kissing him? Are they redder than they were thirty seconds ago? Who kisses someone for only thirty seconds? I guess people who kiss all the time. People for whom kissing is normal and an everyday occurrence.
“Dude.”
“What?” I bark at Mike. He says dude one more time, and I’m stabbing my pencil in the side of his neck.
“You’re bleeding all over our notes.”
I look down to see that my mechanical is snapped in half. With a small cry, Chandler jumps to her feet and rushes off, presumably to get a towel.
“Is that a...metal pencil?” Mike plucks the pen out of my hand. He turns the bent thing one way and then another.
Syracuse leans over Mike’s shoulder. “Maybe lay off the steroids.” He smirks.
“He doesn’t do any of those,” Davis says in my defense.
“Yeah, he’s an arrow,” Mike tacks on.
“An arrow?” Syracuse’s brows come together.
“Yeah, what’s it called?” Mike makes a circle with his hand.
“A straight arrow,” I offer.
Mike snaps his fingers. “That’s it.” He turns to Syracuse. “Straight arrow. He doesn’t do anything. No drinking, smoking, drugs, sex.”
“I drink sometimes.” With Davis only. I don’t trust myself around Chandler.
Syracuse frowns. “That’s fuck boring. What’s the point of all of this”—he waves a hand around the large room that serves as my game room, theatre space, and general fucking around—“if you aren’t doing things to enjoy it?”
“I enjoy it fine.”
“If I had the money, I’d actually do something with it,” says Syracuse as if I never spoke.
Chandler appears at my side. “Like what?” Her tone is slightly acerbic. I arch an eyebrow at her. She scrunches her nose as she dabs the blood away. I want to lean into her, so I don’t really pay attention to Syracuse as he starts babbling.
“If I had this kind of money? I’d fly out to LA, hang out with celebrities, snort coke off a stripper’s ass, stack my house with a bunch of—“
“It’s my dad’s money,” I interrupt because Chandler’s expression is turning from mild amusement to annoyance.
“So?”
“So money isn’t going to buy you happiness.”
“Says someone who hasn’t ever worried about it,” Syracuse shoots back.
“Let’s stop talking about this,” Chandler intervenes.
“It’s easy for you to say that money doesn’t do shit because you’re sitting in your mansion, wearing your thousand dollar sneaks, driving a car that could feed my family for five years, but you don’t know shit.”
I don’t know why this makes me mad, but my mouth is open before I think. “Maybe I’ll have my dad buy your dad’s company and then fire your dad and while he’s depressed and wanking it in the bathroom, I’ll bone your mom.”
Syracuse jumps to his feet. “Fuck you.”
Davis throws out an arm as if to stop Syracuse from pounding me. “Okay. Time out. Both of you go to your corners.”
Chandler drags me across the room, near the pool table. She pushes me against it and jerks my hand out.
“Ouch,” I say, but I don’t mean it.
“Why are you being such a jerk?”
Her head is bent over my hand and her fingers are rubbing, rubbing, rubbing lotion on my tiny, infinitesimal wound. I wish it was bigger. I wish I was bleeding on the floor and she had to stay by my side and nurse me back to health. Actually, if that were the case, I wouldn’t ever get better.
“Hmm?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
“Syracuse doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know.” Plus, he comes from a family of five kids. His dad has to feed all of them on a custodian’s salary. I’ve seen Syracuse’s house and it’s small. I think the guy shares a room with two brothers under the age of ten. That would seriously suck. I heave a sigh. “I guess I have to apologize.”
“Only if you mean it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t say stuff you don’t mean. That can hurt people’s feelings later.”
She peeks at me through her lashes as if t
o see whether I’m going to be upset, and my dick goes hard immediately. I clench my teeth together. Davis is twenty feet away with two of his football buddies. We’re supposed to be writing our own constitution for AP Gov, but instead, we’re throwing insults, and I’m thinking about how I’d like for Chandler to get on her knees and swallow me whole.
“I always say what I mean. Isn’t that what gets me in trouble?”
Chapter Eight
Chandler
I knew this was a bad idea. I also knew it was a way to get Davis out of moping around. All of this has really taken a toll on him. He needed some time out of the house. Since there aren’t many options these days, I figured anything was better than nothing.
Being around people is good for him and it helps me ensure that he is getting some of his coursework done. We’re in the home stretch of graduation. He’s worked so hard these past few years. I won’t let him throw twelve years of school away when we have one left to go.
“I got your point the first time at Davis’. You don’t say anything you don’t mean.” I step away from him. I don’t understand why he has to keep being a jerk to me. I never did anything to him. Yet he continues to act this way toward me. Is he intentionally trying to hurt me now? “Some of us need to graduate. We are not afforded the luxury of not having to worry about studying.” I don’t really get why he invited me here if he can’t stand me that much.
Berkley is smart. He doesn’t need a study group for anything. To be honest, I don’t think he needs his father's money either. I was a little surprised when Davis showed up asking if I wanted to go to Berkley’s to begin with. I knew I had to rip the Band-Aid off, though. There is no way that I can avoid him forever. Not when he and Davis are so close. I might not be his friend, but there will be times I’ll have to be around him. This is one of those times where it sucks to share a best friend.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Doesn’t matter.” I take another step back. He really is all over the place. He’s been itching for a fight since we all got here. He’s more on edge than Davis. That’s saying a lot since Davis is close to losing his crap.
“Let’s call it a night,” Mike says. I want to nod in agreement, but I know we need to finish our work or Davis may not get it done. Berkley isn't looking any less on edge.
“Yeah, I’ll drive you home,” Syracuse says, still giving Berkley a death glare.
“We only have a little more to do. We should just get it done.” I need to make sure Davis stays on track to graduate.
I can’t blame Syracuse for being upset with Berkley. I was annoyed with both of their gross comments. My mood was soured at the idea of Berkley doing anything off of a stripper’s ass. I cared even less for him talking about banging another woman. I shouldn’t be upset, it’s stupid because it all was a joke.
“That was a dick thing to say. I’m sorry.” I glance back at Berkley, unable to help myself. It’s a problem I’m trying to get under control. One I was going to work on tonight but was failing miserably at. What is wrong with me? He’s a jerk! I shouldn’t be the one apologizing.
All of this should be helping dampen my feelings for him. No such luck. I look at him and still my chest feels hollow, and I get lost for a moment. So much so I miss when the two of them have their man make-up. It only consisted of a few grunts and everything seemed to go back to normal. Berkley grabs my hand and brings me back to reality.
“I’m gonna piss. Can I leave without you two breaking shit? I rather enjoy the game room,” Davis asks. They all give each other that man chin nod I’ll never understand.
“Your hand okay?” I look down at his hand grabbing mine, remembering how he’d snapped the mechanical pencil like it was nothing. Not that they are hard to break but hard enough I would think you’d have to know you were doing it. He doesn't answer me. His finger drifts back and forth across my wrist.
“Your skin is always so soft.”
Now it’s me that does not respond.
“Lotion?”
What is going on here? I swallow, feeling my heart start to pound harder.
“Were you kissing Davis?”
“What!” I half shout, pulling my hand harder this time, making him let it go. I know half the school thinks Davis and I are together, but it seems that Berkley thinks that too. How? He’s around us all the time. He should know better.
“Never mind.”
“Yeah, never mind is right.” I turn away from him, going back over to where everyone is sitting. I grab my notebook to sit back down. I try to follow along and get as much work done as I can, but every time I let my eyes drift over to Berkley, he’s staring at me. I try not to fidget. I also try not to drive myself insane.
“I’m beat.” Davis falls over on the sofa behind me. He actually does look beat. Not any more so then when he plays four quarters of a game. I look over his work for him. When I finally get done, he’s actually snoring.
“I’ve never met anyone who can do that. He can pass out on the bus home from a game with everyone cheering,” Mike says. It is an impressive skill. One I wish I had. I’ve been sleeping like crap lately.
Any other day I’d let him sleep and hang out, but I have no intentions of hanging out with only Berkley. With how Mike and Syracuse are packing up, they are about to bounce out.
“You still want me to check out your computer tomorrow?” Syracuse asks, catching me off guard. My whole face flushes. Not because of Syracuse but because he brought up the whole embarrassing moment of my life again with Berkley standing right there.
“I’ll look at it,” Berkley grits out before I can respond. I watch his hand ball into a fist. I’m just happy he isn't holding another pencil. I think this pandemic is starting to get to him as much as it is Davis.
“I’ll text you later?”
“Yeah, sure.” Syracuse looks as confused as I am about Berkley’s tone, but it’s not completely abnormal for him. What's more abnormal if you ask me is the amount he is talking at all.
“You don’t need to text him. I said I’ll fix it.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, not wanting to fight with him in front of everyone. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. When I get a look at my red face in the bathroom mirror I know I have to get out of here. I’ll ask Syracuse and Mike if I can ride with them. I decide this before I exit the bathroom, but they are already gone.
“I’ll take you home,” Berkley says as we stand alone in his game room except for one snoring Davis, who is dead to the world again. I should have listened to myself. Yep, this was a bad idea. I was setting myself up for more heartbreak.
Chapter Nine
Berkley
“Why am I fixing this?” I grumble as I wiggle a few cables inside the massive hard drive that is Chandler’s busted computer. I don’t know shit about computers, but I wasn’t about to let Syracuse have some alone time with Chandler. The only solo time she spends is going to be with me, which is why I’m here at her kitchen table while she’s making dinner.
“Because it’s your fault that it broke,” she retorts.
I bend over the computer to hide my confusion. I don’t remember causing this, but it’s possible. I think back to our past conversations, trying to pinpoint the moment that I had done something to cause her to knock her computer over and ruin it. And if I was at fault, why didn’t she accept the laptop? Her responses baffle me a lot. “There are some loose cords, but it’s still not responding. I think it’s busted.”
“Really?” She sounds genuinely upset.
“Yeah. It starts up and then stops. You can hear it grinding.” I press my ear against the hard drive.
Chandler abandons the ravioli and comes over to my side. She bends down to listen. Her head is so close to mine. I can smell the mint of her gum, the strawberry lotion she buys at the candle store. Her breasts dangle down, swaying right above my hand. I close my fingers into a fist so I don’t accidentally touch her.
“You should’ve just accepted
the laptop,” I say quietly.
“I don’t like charity.”
“It’s not charity. It’s my fault you needed it, remember?”
She turns her head and I find that our mouths are inches apart. “I was joking.”
Her lips are so plush and kissable. The lower lip has this tiny divot that invites me to run my tongue along it. A ragged, shaky breath escapes me. I gulp and try to speak. “Chandler.”
“Berk…”
My name comes off her tongue like a plea. My mind doesn’t process what she’s asking, but my body does. The thing is when you have money, generally speaking, there isn’t a thing in the world that’s off-limits. When you do come across something that you can’t have, you have no coping mechanism because you’ve never been told no. That’s how I feel around Chandler—defenseless with no way to deal with all the emotions she stirs inside of me. It should be as easy as seeing, wanting, having, but instead I see, know I can’t have, and live each day with a hunger that can’t be appeased.
And what happens when you wave a piece of meat in front of someone who hasn’t eaten for weeks or months or years? Exactly. I pull her down onto my lap and smother her mouth with mine. Her hands land on my shoulders, light and uncertain. Maybe that should’ve been my signal to stop, but I don’t. I shove my hand into her mass of hair and angle her head so I can penetrate her mouth deeper. I tongue her deeply, tracing every ridge and recess, memorizing her taste, her feel. My other hand grips her ass and pulls her tightly against my rigid cock.
I’m so hard right now and so ready to explode. I start moving her, showing her how to grind against me. She moans into my mouth, and explosions shoot off behind my eyelids. Blood drains from my head to my dick. I want to come so badly. I need to come, but I also want to suck on her tits and stick my head between her legs and lap at her juices until she’s dry. I want to bend her over this table and take her so hard that the wooden legs buckle. I want her to ride me with her tits bouncing in my face. Fuck. My mind is galloping a hundred miles an hour.