The Boy on the Bridge

by Sam Mariano

  Nerves make me restless. I’m still a little tempted to escape. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but there’s something troubling about him. Something that makes me second guess how quickly I agreed to his plan, how carelessly I believed him—like he was someone I knew to be trustworthy.

  I don’t really know Ryden Sherlock at all. The only thing I can even recall Hunter saying to me about him was something along the lines of, “Sherlock bites, but I wouldn’t let him bite you,” and now here I am, in his car in the shortest skirt that has ever been on my body. What the hell was I thinking?

  Well, I was thinking Hunter was in some kind of trouble and he needed my help. That’s what Sherlock told me.

  I feel insane and somewhat influenced by my crazy mother, but I grip the door until my knuckles turn white and pay careful attention to the road to make sure he really is taking me to Hunter’s house.

  Surely he can feel my tension, but it must not bother him because he does nothing to ease it.

  When we pull into Hunter’s driveway, the tension in my chest eases. I tell myself I was being silly to let Mom’s overprotective concerns about a boy get in my head, but… well, it probably wasn’t all that wise to assume Sherlock was on the up and up just because he’s a friend of Hunter’s. Hunter has several terrible friends—it’s no guarantee of a person’s goodness to be Hunter’s friend.

  Sherlock hasn’t done anything to make me so paranoid either, though, so I try to shake it off as we head toward Hunter’s front door.

  It’s a lot easier once we’re no longer alone in the confines of his car.

  What isn’t as easy is walking into this party in this skirt and not feeling self-conscious about it. I never wear clothes like these because I’m not comfortable in them.

  I can’t believe I just listened to Sherlock when he told me how to dress—what the hell was I thinking?

  It’s too late now. I’m here, my legs are here—we all just have to get through this.

  We don’t have to stay for long, anyway, just long enough for Hunter to see us and get the wrong idea. Maybe then he’ll actually talk to me.

  Though, it occurs to me as we pass a couple making out and groping each other in Hunter’s living room… I could end up seeing something I don’t want to see.

  I wasn’t happy when Hunter was with Valerie, but now he’s completely single.

  Sara’s words about some girl coming onto Hunter in the limo on the way to homecoming resurface.

  If Hunter is single, girls are probably throwing themselves at him left and right.

  If he’s sad because of me… maybe he’s taking them up on those offers.

  Suddenly overwhelmed with an even stronger wave of foreboding than the ones I’ve already felt tonight, I look over at Sherlock. “I think this was a terrible idea. I’m not sure why I agreed to it in the first place. Honestly, I… I have no explanation. I think you short-circuited my brain or something, but I don’t feel right being here. Can we go?”

  He shakes his head, lightly grabbing me around the waist and pulling me forward. “Not yet.”

  I frown. “I don’t really need your permission.”

  Rather than respond, he nods up ahead. “Your friend Sara’s here. Don’t you want to say hi to her?”

  I guess I should say hi to Sara while I’m here. Things have been weird between us lately, but they would likely get much weirder if we avoided each other at a party.

  “All right.”

  Sherlock nods, offering me a smile I think he intends to be reassuring. “Go on. I’ll get you a drink.”

  I open my mouth to object, but then I stop.

  I’m only going to tell him not to get me a drink because Mom told me to, not because I don’t want one. I’m not a drinker, but I am thirsty. “Grab me something non-alcoholic, please. A bottled water or something like that.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says with an irreverent salute, but even as he says it, I get the impression I’ll get whatever he decides to bring me.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Riley

  When I approach Sara, she’s sitting alone on Hunter’s couch, gazing after Wally. A few feet away, he’s chatting up a long-haired blonde, smiling as she laughs at something he’s said.

  When I look back at Sara, I see lines of tension on her face. She’s practically vibrating with nervous energy, sitting forward and watching with her hands folded on her lap.

  “Hey.”

  Her gaze jumps to me in surprise. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  “Sherlock brought me.”

  Her eyebrows rise. “Wow, really?”

  “It’s not a date or anything,” I say quickly.

  Her eyebrows don’t drop at all. She looks over my outfit. “You sure? You’re definitely dressed for a date.”

  I shake my head. “Definitely not a date.”

  “Well, if you deny it twice in the span of four seconds, it must be true,” she says lightly.

  My face flushes. I glance over at Wally, seeking a distraction. “So, how’s everything with you?” I look back at Sara. “Are you and Wally talking more, or…?”

  “Yeah,” she says, her tone almost too pitchy to be believed. “We actually came together tonight. He gave me a ride.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s cool.”

  She offers a tempered smile. “Yeah.”

  “So… have you guys been hanging out?”

  “Yeah.”

  I nod, waiting for her to go on. I know my friend has it in her to be boy crazy, especially where this particular boy is concerned, so I wait for her to expand.

  When she doesn’t, my concern deepens. “You don’t seem as excited about that as I thought you would be.”

  “It’s exciting,” she says defensively. “It’s just… it’s complicated, you know?”

  “Not really.” I attempt a smile. “You haven’t been talking to me about it. Or anything else, really.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “I get that.” I frown, hearing a hint of defensiveness in my own tone. “I’ve been busy, too.”

  “Great,” she says, a tad shortly. “We’ve both been busy, so that’s why we haven’t talked about it.”

  My frown deepens, and my concern with it. “Is everything okay, Sara?”

  “Everything is fine,” she snaps. “God, stop asking.”

  Folding my arms across my chest, I shoot her a look. “Clearly. Why would I have thought everything wasn’t fine when you’re acting so chill? Is it Wally? You’re watching him talk to that girl pretty hard.”

  Her gaze snaps to me. “I am not keeping an eye on him.”

  “I… didn’t say you were.”

  “He’s not mine to keep an eye on. Yeah, we’ve spent some time together, but we’re keeping things casual right now. We haven’t labeled it, you know?”

  She’s wound so tightly, I’m not sure where is safe to step. “And… you’re okay with that arrangement?”

  “I have to be okay with that arrangement,” she says, a hint of misery coming through as she looks back over at him. “That’s what he wants. Right now,” she adds, more for herself than me.

  “Sara,” I say, as gently as possible. “If you want different things, maybe—”

  “Don’t,” she says, shaking her head and not looking at me. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

  My heart sinks. “I’m not trying to ruin anything for you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Finally, her gaze returns to mine, but there’s something mean there I don’t like at all. “Look, we can’t all have Instagram models obsessed with us even when we push them away, okay? Some of us have to wait it out and see where things go. We have to wait to see if a guy actually even likes us. I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about that.”

  I inhale sharply, her words slicing through me like serrated blades.

  Guilt flashes across her face almost immediately, but it doesn’t make her words sting any less.

  “Whoa. Am I int
errupting something?”

  I look back at Sherlock, standing there with two red Solo cups.

  “No. We’re done here,” I tell him, eager to flee. I walk away without another word.

  Sherlock is right on my heels. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Isn’t she your friend?” he asks, glancing back at Sara.

  “Yeah, she’s supposed to be,” I mutter.

  “Huh. Could’ve fooled me.”

  “She’s just upset because Wally is an asshole,” I state, slowing to a stop. “She’s taking it out on me. Whatever. I just… I really want to leave. Can we get out of here?”

  Sherlock sighs, looking around. “I really wanted you to talk to Hunter first. Coming here was a complete waste of time if you don’t.” After a couple of seconds, he hands me one of the Solo cups. “Here. Why don’t we have one drink, do a lap, see if we can find him?”

  “I don’t feel like socializing with anyone else,” I say, taking the cup and regarding it with open skepticism. “And my mom told me not to take open drinks from strange guys.”

  “No roofies, I promise.” He holds his cup out. “We can switch, if you want.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, the crazy coming out as I tell him, “Maybe you expected me to say that and roofied yourself so that when I insisted we switch cups, I would end up with the roofies.”

  “Maybe you’ve seen The Princess Bride a time too many.”

  “Inconceivable!”

  Sherlock smiles. “Come on. We’ll head upstairs, fewer people up there. It’s quieter. Maybe Hunter’s up there. Sometimes he gets these parties going and then disappears.”

  I tense when he says that. “Alone?”

  “As far as I know.”

  I don’t like those odds. If we find him and he’s hooking up with some other girl, I’ll die.

  “I have a better idea,” I tell Sherlock.

  “What’s that?” he asks, grabbing my elbow and guiding me toward the stairs.

  “We don’t talk to Hunter. We don’t drink our drinks. We go back to my house and watch a movie with my mom and her sorta boyfriend. There’s a 50/50 chance she’ll hate you on sight, but she could also love you for not being Hunter. Definitely one or the other, no possibility she’ll fall somewhere in the middle. It would help immensely if you found a natural way to express your inherent disinterest in sex. Ray would probably think your car is cool, so you’d get points there. We can watch The Princess Bride and order pizza, and then you can go home.”

  “Hmm, tempting,” he says, playing along.

  I’m not playing, though. I really don’t want to go upstairs.

  I am walking up the stairs though, so you can’t tell.

  I frown over at him. “How do you keep convincing me to do things I don’t want to do?”

  Sherlock smirks. “It’s a talent.” His free hand moves to the small of my back as we hit the top landing.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t touch me. You said we’re not lying to Hunter, we’re just trying to take him off guard by being here together. If he sees you touching me, he’ll think…”

  He stops to set his drink down on an end table before we make it to the hallway. “That I’m a gentleman?”

  “No, not that.”

  He takes my drink and starts to put it down next to his, but stops suddenly and frowns at the rim of the cup. “No lipstick.” He hands the cup back. “Here, take a drink.”

  “Why?” I ask, scowling.

  “Devil’s in the details.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just take a goddamn sip.”

  I scowl harder. “You’re so bossy,” I tell him, but I take a quick sip anyway.

  He takes the cup now and sets it down, then he drapes an arm around me, planting a hand on my hip and starting down the hallway. “What happened between you two, anyway?”

  “Remember when you said that was my business?” I ask, anxious about how close he is. I can feel the body heat rolling off him and seeping into me.

  “Well, yeah, but that was before we were friends,” he says with a wink-and-smirk-combo I guarantee has dropped a good number of panties.

  “I’ve reconsidered your friendship application. I regret to inform you, the position is no longer available.”

  “Damn. I’ll have to apply next time there’s an opening,” he says as he guides me down the shadowy corridor.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask, realizing as soon as the question is out, there are only bedrooms this way and no other people.

  He stops right outside of Hunter’s bedroom and turns me around so my back is to the door.

  I get the feeling I’m exactly where he’s wanted me since he sat with me at lunch, and the sudden predatory glint in his eye makes my heart sink.

  Those eyes. It’s hard to look away from them, even though holding his gaze makes my chest tight. I thought his eyes were blue earlier today when he sat down at my lunch table, but as I look up into their seemingly endless depths now, they’ve darkened to a hard, steely gray.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat, easing back against the door as Sherlock closes in on me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice a bit shaky.

  Wordlessly, he plants a hand against the door over my head, then leans in and presses his body against mine. His other arm coils around my waist, tightening and tugging my body close as I try to move away. His face is so close to mine, I can scarcely breathe.

  “You said… you said we were only going to—”

  “I lied,” he says simply.

  Then he kisses me.

  My tummy tumbles, my heart sinks, and adrenaline rushes through my blood stream as the bedroom door opens behind me. I’m caught between the instincts to shove Sherlock away, and catch myself as I fall backward without the closed door to support my weight.

  I don’t actually fall because Sherlock has his arm locked around my waist, but that’s so much worse.

  “What the fuck?”

  Hunter’s stunned voice stops my heart.

  I bring my hands up quickly, trying to shove Sherlock away from me. He pulls back once we’re in the bedroom anyway, feigning surprise as he looks up at Hunter. “Oh, shit. Sorry, man, I didn’t realize you were in this room.”

  Sherlock lets go and I skitter away, backing up against the open door and gazing at Hunter with open horror.

  The look of betrayal on his beautiful face tears my heart in half.

  I want to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness, even though I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.

  Hunter’s not looking at Sherlock. He doesn’t answer him, either. He’s staring at me. His gaze drops to my lips, and the look in his eyes shifts. Hurt twists itself into red-hot fury.

  I touch my bottom lip, conscious of all the trouble it’s causing. Sherlock kissed me so at first I think he probably smeared my lipgloss, but then I touch my lip and realize it feels kind of tender and swollen.

  He bit my lip.

  It all happened so fast, I didn’t even realize.

  I cover my mouth, not wanting Hunter to see. Guilt leaps to my eyes. I step forward as I try to explain. “It’s not what it looks like.”

  I know exactly what it looks like. It looks like we were making out in the hallway and we tumbled into a room that happened to be occupied.

  Hunter takes a slow step forward, then another.

  I’ve never been afraid of Hunter, but my heart pounds like I am as I take an instinctive step back.

  Half-assing his performance now that Hunter has zeroed in on me, Sherlock says, “I didn’t even realize this was your room…”

  “Get. The. Fuck. Out,” Hunter says carefully, his voice so low and dangerous, it sends a jolt of fear down my spine.

  My back is against the door, so I can’t move any farther away from him. I push back anyway, like I can disappear into it if I push hard enough. “Hunter, I wasn’t—We weren’t—He set me up.”

  “Oh yeah?�
�� He stalks closer. “He kidnapped you and dragged you to my house, to my bedroom without anyone noticing you crying out for help?”

  My flush deepens. “Well, no.”

  “Are you here with him?” he demands.

  “Well… technically,” I say uncertainly.

  He’s close enough to reach both of us now. Sherlock hasn’t left yet, he’s still standing in the doorway. Hunter looks over at him, eyes narrowed. “What the fuck are you waiting for? I said get out of my house.”

  I cast an anxious look at Sherlock, who—for a split second—looks torn. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asks me.

  I think he really means it, but he’s got some fucking nerve.

  Hunter really doesn’t appreciate his friend’s apparent concern for me.

  He turns on Sherlock, grabbing him by the shirt and shoving him backward. “Get the fuck away from us before I put you through a goddamn wall.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assure the asshole who lured me here. I’m mad as hell at him, but I don’t want him and Hunter to lock horns. Hunter will calm down once I’m able to explain what happened, but the longer Sherlock stands there, the more pissed off Hunter will get. “Go.”

  Sherlock glances from me to Hunter, not appearing entirely convinced, but he didn’t come here to fight with Hunter.

  Apparently, he brought me here to feed me to him.

  So, without further concern for my well-being, Sherlock accepts my assurance and disappears down the hall.

  Once he’s gone, Hunter turns back to me and glares. “Fucking Sherlock? Seriously, Riley?”

  I swallow, regarding Hunter with caution as he stalks toward me. “It wasn’t how it looked. We weren’t making out in the hall. He tricked me.”

  Hunter grabs me by the shirt, just like he did Sherlock. I gasp, but he doesn’t shove me out of his bedroom—he pulls me farther into it so he can shut and lock the door.

  “He—He told me you were having a hard time.” Hunter backs me up toward the wall. I stumble, but I don’t go far since he’s still got that grip on my shirt. “He had this stupid idea to—to come here together tonight, but it wasn’t a date. He just thought if you saw me with him, it might surprise you and then you’d talk to me.”