Brielle sucks in a breath. “You two should totally do it! Go upstairs right now and report back.” She jumps at the ridiculous idea. “This is so romantic.”
“That is so not romantic,” I balk at her idea. In fact it’s framed in stupid, but I leave that part out. “And then what? You want a detailed description?”
“We don’t want a report.” Lexy bucks in disgust. “We just want to watch you hobble out and pretend you enjoyed it, so we can laugh at you.” The room breaks out in titters.
Why the hell wouldn’t I enjoy getting busy with Gage of all people? My mind drifts to those shadowed thoughts I’ve had at least a dozen times of the two of us going at it. Wait, why would I be hobbling? Is this going to hurt?
I shoot a look to Brielle. We are so having a discussion on the pain threshold of this deflowering session she’s trying to schedule.
Logan takes up my hand and reels me in. “I think you need someone with a little experience under his belt.” He presses out the beginnings of a lewd grin, and my entire body burns with heat.
“That’s right,” Chloe beams. “We had a good time didn’t we?” She licks her lips like reliving a memory. Logan and Chloe had sex in my bedroom, well, technically it wasn’t my bedroom—back then it was hers, and apparently so was Logan.
“That’s one visual I didn’t need.” Everything in me wants to launch a vase at her head. I’m really not a fan at the moment, or any moment.
“We’ll be different,” Logan whispers with his face full of tenderness as if we were the only two people in the room. “What we share will be born of love.” He collapses his arms around me, and I disintegrate under his supervision, right there in the family room.
“Next,” Emily belts it out, bored.
“That’s you, Skyla.” Gage is quick to usher me over to the barstool and away from his uncle’s affections. I take a seat next to Em, and Brielle hops up on the other side.
“Touch the paper.” Emily slips her pencil into her thick dark curls as if she’s itching her scalp, and I’m pretty sure she is. Em has a severe disinterest in politeness and people in general.
I touch my hand to the paper and promptly remove it in the event God himself is watching and decides to put an end to the lunacy by combusting the entire room.
Emily sets in on her unscientific form of diagnosing the future while Brielle lurks over her shoulder.
“So Drake says you’re trying?” Brielle nods into Em while watching the pencil glide hypnotically over the page.
“Trying what?” I ask. To break his habit of sleeping with Brielle? I’ve never understood this bizarre love triangle. I need to smack some sense into Drake and make him see that Brielle is the girl for him.
“You know”—Em huffs it out while continuing on with her demonic artwork—“have a kid.”
I can’t decide if I want to laugh or cry and nearly choke in the process.
“What?” I rack my brain for a word that rhymes with kid because surely Drake isn’t planning on adding another baby to the litter. I can see Mom now with two different babies suckling off her bosom, and I shudder.
“Whoa.” Gage leans in. “That’s pretty serious. You’re not really thinking that, are you?”
“Yup.” Emily dispenses her first real voice inflection of the evening, hell, her life. “I’m thinking we should have it around prom, plus we’ll be ready to graduate and stuff.”
“And stuff?” Logan seems equally stymied.
“Em,” I say it sharp, and she glances up at me. “Nobody plans to have a baby, senior year.”
“That’s because they have unplanned pregnancies. This way I won’t be a statistic. Besides, both Drake and I turn eighteen in December.”
“Me too!” Brielle high fives the girl who’s planning a family with her quasi-boyfriend.
“This is so twisted,” I say under my breath. I’m going to have to pull Mom and Tad into this, and quite possibly the authorities.
A picture begins to form under Emily’s careful supervision. It’s me. My face, so perfectly detailed with my lips opened slightly, my eyes closed, my chin tipped up. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was lost in ecstasy.
“Well, what’s this?” Brielle teases. “It looks like Skyla here gets her V-card revoked after all.” She leans in and glues herself to Emily’s wicked pencil twitches.
A body emerges lying over mine—my legs are wrapped around his back like a vine.
Well, fuck me. Quite literally this is happening, and my cheeks burn with heat at the mere idea of it becoming a reality.
Chloe and Ethan, Nat and Piece, Michelle and Lexy, Drake and poor sweet innocent Giselle have all leaned in for the big reveal.
Emily starts in on his profile. She draws a simple oval then highlights the bone structure, the hairline, and my stomach clenches.
Oh dear God, no, no, no…
I can’t find out like this in a room full of haters and friends, but mostly haters—I can’t find out who I’m going to choose to spend the rest of my life with.
“God, that’s Dudley!” Michelle lets it rip from her lungs like the house were on fire.
“It’s Logan,” Brielle corrects.
I reach forward and snatch the paper off the counter, crumpling it to nothing before ripping it to shreds.
There is no way in hell I’m letting Emily and her manipulative, questionable, and certainly-not-kosher third eyeball try and dictate who I sleep with. This is manipulation at its best, and I bet Chloe slipped her a Benjamin to tip the outcome.
I glance up at the faces of the morbidly curious crowd, but it’s the dark-haired knight who stands by my side that my eyes settle on with sadness.
Nobody ever said it was Gage.
8
Dating at the Speed of Light
On Saturday it rains lush, fat drops over my windshield as I make my way to Marshall’s overgrown estate.
Last night Gage offered to sleep on the couch. After all, my mother was practically shoving a condom down our throats, but I knew in my heart, I would drag him upstairs and wrestle him over my mattress until I made sure he was the one who was in that picture. I didn’t like seeing him hurt like that. He looked gutted, destroyed on a primal level as the crowd took running bets on who “my first” would be.
My first. I huff a laugh. More like my first and last. I have no intention of bed hopping with Marshall, Logan, and Gage. I mean, with Marshall it would be explosive, almost bordering on perverse. An entire montage of sexual debauchery runs through my mind, and a car horn blares from behind while I stall at the green light.
“Crap.” I give a little wave and continue on my way to the sexual Sector’s house.
Of course with Logan it would be electric. We would set the bed, the sheets on fire. Our bodies would fuse as one under the supervision of that consumable blaze. Logan has a way of making me feel like we were designed for one another, something far more intricate than simply destiny. A vision of him raking his body over mine, watching me as I writhe beneath him, infiltrates my thoughts. Logan has the power to transport me to some nebulous place where time no longer exists.
I reach for my water bottle and take a few quick gulps as I start the long drive down Marshall’s street.
Then, of course, there’s Gage. My insides rake with heat. A searing fire spikes in the most intimate part of me, and I give an involuntary groan. It would be a pleasure to satisfy his indelible ache. You could taste the heartbreak, the pure desperation when he’s in the room. What I wouldn’t give to lie down for him and make both of our carnal desires come true.
I pull into Marshall’s driveway and sit in the car a moment trying to cool myself down. The last thing I need is to walk in there all sexed up, ready to cave to his every fantasy.
Oh, who the hell am I kidding.
I snatch my purse and hold it over my head as I speed toward the porch, getting doused in the process.
Marshall swings the door open just in time, and I hop up and offer him an i
mpromptu hug.
“In the mood for a tryst, I see.” He bolts the door in the event I change my mind and decide to tryst elsewhere.
“I’m just here to say thank you.”
“In advance?” A smile slides up his cheek as he takes a step into me. Marshall is heavenly on the eyes in the truest sense, or hellishly handsome. “You’re wise beyond your years.” He presses his body into mine, backing me up against a stack of oversized paintings lined against the wall.
“Speaking of age,” I say, securing my hands to his chest. “I’m only two months away from being legal. On earth, I’m still referred to as jailbait. Although technically since you’re my teacher, it’s also called a felony.” I twist out from underneath him and examine the giant gilded frames stacked tight. “What’s this?”
“Wedding gifts.” Marshall spins the first one around, and I gasp. “Wonderful isn’t it?”
The horror.
A giant velvet canvas stares back at me with a demon, a creature that loosely resembles Marshall kneeling with his tongue knifing out of his mouth like a sword, and he’s holding a weird looking banana in his lap, and that, too, sort of looks like it’s on fire. It’s almost as if it’s a—
“Oh my, God!” I shout. “Turn that thing around.”
“Very well.” Marshall spins it and plucks out another one for my inspection. A beautiful girl sits on her knees—sans clothing, of course—painted on matching, navy velvet. Her eyes are fixed in horror, her hands are open as if she’s about to catch something. Her mouth is stretched wide as if she’s waiting for something to fall in it. Her hair, her clear eyes look vaguely familiar…
“Is that supposed to be me?” Gah! I’m naked, and wanting, and God only knows what the heck I’m supposedly looking at.
“Of course, that’s you.” He tucks his head back a notch as if he’s shocked I had to ask. “Each one of these masterpieces depicts us in the throes of passion. The Sectors and Sprites pooled their resources and commissioned a gifted artesian to fashion these for the two of us—under the guidance of Delphinius, of course. He’s been known to parcel out visions when needed. It’s a philanthropic effort on his part. These are all glimpses into our future.”
“Are you nuts?” I take a solid step away from the sexed-up Sector. “That doesn’t even look like me.” OK, so it totally does, but I’m not about to encourage him. “You would think some angelic painter would get the little details right like our faces.”
Marshall closes his eyes a little longer than necessary. “I suppose you’re right. Although I’ll have you know the artist was no angel.”
“Let me guess, Demetri?” I would so peg him for stroking out some pornography on the side.
“No. I assure you the craftsmen was once human, through and through, perhaps you’ve heard of him? Does the name Michelangelo ring a bell?” Marshall’s chest broadens as if he expects me to be impressed.
I pluck back a few more canvases and inspect them from this bird’s eye point of view. Marshall and I look hideous, alarmed by one another rather than lost in desire.
“Obviously paradise doesn’t agree with him,” I quip. “He’s lost his touch. And really? Erotic art as wedding gifts? On velvet no less? Crass Marshall, very crass.”
“It’s the right surface I assure you. Once you settle into the Soullennium you’ll see the things of earth you’ve arrogantly dismissed were ironically the very treasures of heaven.”
I’m not planning on “settling into the Soullennium” but I opt out of the argument in the making and change the subject.
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“I know why you’re here.” Marshall smolders and sets my insides on fire. “I observed your mental musings in the car on the way over.” He cinches a satisfied smile. “It was lewd and crude, and I entirely approve—just the part about me. Do try not to lust after boys while sealed to yours truly. It’s bad form.”
“I thought you couldn’t read my thoughts?”
“It’s a power I’ve been gifted for assisting in the war. A reward you might say.”
“Perfect.” I slap my hands over my thighs as I make my way toward the couch. Now I have to deal with a lifetime of Marshall prying into my private thoughts. “I’m a bit disturbed by this.” I plop down, and Marshall glides in beside me, uncomfortably close. “By the way, I’m not so crazy about this spiritual covenant we’ve entered into, either.”
“You didn’t seem to mind when I walked you through the flames.”
Everything in me softens.
Marshall is absurdly gorgeous with those crimson eyes, those impossibly cut features—that get-in-my-bed attitude. I can’t seem to stay mad at him for more than five minutes.
“No, I didn’t mind it then.” I pick up his hand and pull it close to my chest. “I want to speak with my mother. That’s why I’m here. I need answers about my future, and I’m desperate to get them. There’s no way I can choose between Logan and Gage—not even you.” I tug on his fingers. “You’re special, Marshall, and I can’t live without having you in my life.” I’m too embarrassed to admit that he clots up my mind in other far more carnal ways—that I could see myself being content, day in and day out, with Marshall fulfilling my every physical desire.
He wiggles my hand without losing his steely gaze.
“I’ll take you to see your mother. I have an appointment with her soon. I’ll bring you with me.”
“Excellent! What’s the appointment for?”
“I’ve been convicted of the charges brought against me.” He narrows in on me. “The Justice Alliance held court and found me guilty.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you may never see me again.”
***
In the late hours of the night, I wait in the butterfly room for Logan to lock up the bowling alley. He apologized profusely, but mentioned Gage called and said he wouldn’t be able to work his shift, so it left him shorthanded. Gage knew Logan and I were going out tonight, and I can’t help but feel I’m the reason he called in.
I don’t know when this madness will end. I suppose once I decide who to be with then the other two will just have to live with the aftereffects. But I know there’s no way I can logically make that decision. I’d have more luck pulling a name out of a hat, and I might just have to resort to that.
A low rumble comes from the other side of the attic, followed by footsteps. The tiny door opens, and Logan squeezes through.
“I would have let you through the front.” I pull him in and dot his lips with a kiss, startling myself from the spontaneity of the act. It feels natural kissing Logan when I see him, when I’m with him, and when we’re about to part ways. I’m going to make a lousy girlfriend to either Gage or Marshall if I continue to be so liberal with my lips.
“That’s exactly why you should pick me.” He breaks out in a killer grin.
“You know it drives me nuts when you read my mind like that.”
“I know.” He gives a quick peck over my cheek. “Sorry about that. How did it go with Dudley? Is Ellis OK?”
“Oh shoot.” My shoulders droop. “I completely forgot to bring him up.”
Logan is just as worried about Ellis as I am.
He blinks back in surprise. His amber orbs examine me, and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I can’t help but glow like a lantern with Logan watching over me.
“What did you talk about?” I hope you talked. He pulls his lips to the side, no smile.
I shake my head at the physical implications of it all. “We discussed his poor taste in art. Michelangelo, you know, stuff like that.” True story. Although, I don’t know why I feel the need to convince Logan that Dudley and I had a cultured conversation. “OK we looked at lewd art. But they were wedding gifts from his cohorts.”
Logan pushes his head back, and a dry laugh rattles from him. “You can’t be married to Dudley.” He blows a slow breath from his lips like a tire expiring. “I don’t know what that’s abou
t, but I heard rumblings. For the record, I don’t like it.”
“Rumblings?”
“From your mother.” He gives a look of discontent, and I’m not sure if it has to do with Marshall or my mother—probably both. “She mentioned it in passing.”
“Figures. Anyway that was my sole purpose in seeing him. I demanded to see my dear old Mom and let her in on a few things.”
“Such as?” His brows peak. Logan is beyond gorgeous when he’s curious. Hell, he’s gorgeous when he’s not curious.
Thank you.
“You’re welcome. And back to my mother I want to talk to her about the war, the future, and why the hell she found Marshall guilty when he was brought to Justice Alliance, which, by the way, I’m a little pissed off at you about. Do you know how much that man helps me?”
“I know, and I know you’re pissed.” He lets a grin slide up the side of his face before growing all together serious. “But I beg of you, Skyla, if you decide not to choose me to spend your life with, choose Gage, not Dudley—never Dudley.”
“Logan.” I wrap my arms around him so tight and bury my face in his chest. I can’t stand the thought of not choosing Logan. I pull back and swallow hard. “I want to say something, and I’m not saying this in a flippant way or as some meaningless sentiment.” I soak him in with his passive smile, his eyes an entire kaleidoscope of citrine sunshine. “I love you, Logan Oliver. I’m so crazy in love with you, I can’t breathe when I think of not having you around.”
He closes his eyes and pulls me in. Logan buries a kiss over the top of my head and sniffs as though he’s holding back tears.
“I love you, too, Skyla. It’s killing me how much I want to be with you, to have the future paved with your smile, each and every day. Don’t forget that. Don’t you ever forget how much I love you.”
I pull back and nod. “I could never forget it.” Every cell in my body wants to live out a future with him—just Logan and me by one another’s side all the days of our lives.
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