by Nicole Fox
That oversight is about to cost me.
“I’ve been doing what you said. I’m staying close to Noah and luring him in. I’m doing exactly what you wanted.”
Tank leans towards the console, hand extended, and I can smell the cigarette smoke and dust rising off of his vest.
I try to keep my distance, but Tank grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger and twists my face towards his.
“I know, angel. You’ve been a very good girl.”
Once again, it’s like there is a flashing neon sign above my head.
Let the Whole World Know That I, Penelope LaFevre, Gave Noah Boone A Blowjob In the Girls’ Bathroom (And I Liked It).
Is there anyway Tank knows about that?
No, definitely not.
Tank is scary because he’s large, not because he’s smart.
It’s not like he’s capable of surveilling the Ravenlake Prep girls’ bathroom waiting for exactly this particular event to occur.
Still, I feel the heat of shame prickling at my chest and neck.
“I just don’t want you losing focus.” Tank shifts his eyes from my face to my hair and grabs the end of my pigtail. He tugs on it and then lets his hand drift a little further, barely brushing against the swell of my breast. “I want to make sure you’re properly motivated.”
“You threatened to hurt my little sister,” I snap, swatting his hand away. “That is plenty of motivation.”
In an instant, Tank swells up to twice his height before, almost like a Macy’s day parade balloon filling with air.
One second, he’s in the seat next to me.
The next, he’s hovering over me only a few inches away.
“If not motivation, then maybe you could stand a refresher in respect,” he growls. “I’d be more than happy to teach you how to be obedient. We’re all alone in this parking lot, after all.”
I look around to see if he’s right.
And my blood goes cold.
We really are alone. My car is the only one left in the lot, and I’m parked behind the Student Activity Center. The lot isn’t visible from the road.
I’m trapped.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe, pulling my arms in tight, trying to make myself as small and insignificant as possible.
I’ve had a lot of practice with that at home.
If I stay out of my mom’s way, she might not seek me out.
She might not hurl insults at me.
She might not notice me grabbing a snack from the pantry or eating an entire plate of dinner.
So I treat Tank like I’d treat Momma. If I shrink down and apologize now, he might feel powerful enough that he doesn’t need to cow me in another way.
A much worse way.
His presence over me shifts, softens, and he strokes a calloused hand over my cheek. “Don’t worry, angel. I’d make sure you liked it.”
He lifts my face to his, forcing me to look in his eyes, and then smiles.
“It’s hard not to imagine what you must be doing with Noah to earn his trust.”
I don’t say anything, not sure what he wants.
“I find myself a little jealous at times,” he continues, stroking my hair again. “Do you think you could ever forgive me for scaring you like I have?”
He wants to know if I could ever sleep with him willingly, and the thought is enough to make me sick.
Of course not.
Never in a million fucking years.
He’s also toying with me. He’s trying to mix fear and seduction in a confusing cocktail to keep me on my toes.
But just because I realize what he’s doing doesn’t make it easier to follow.
Before I can answer, he lets go of my hair and falls back in the seat, throwing his arms out in defeat.
“Women are all the same. Sex is too emotional for you. For men, it can be physical, all about release. But women can’t help but fall a little bit in love with whoever they fuck.”
He turns back to me, eyes narrowed to slits, his forehead wrinkled. “Can I trust you won’t fall for him?”
“For Noah?” I ask, trying to track his side of the conversation. “We haven’t slept together.”
Recently, my mind clarifies silently.
He taps a fat finger on his chin. “But you might, and if you do, I need to know it won’t screw with your head and make you useless to me. I need to know you can still do the job I’ve assigned you.”
“I can, I definitely can,” I say quickly. “It won’t be a problem. I’ve already told you, Noah is nothing to me.”
Tank frowns. “I’d feel better if I had some proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That you can remain objective during sex. That you won’t fall in love.” His pupils seem to swallow his eyes, and he leans towards me. “Should we test it?”
My stomach bottoms out, and I can’t remember ever being so scared in my life.
“You have a big backseat, and I’ve got time,” he hisses, reaching over the console to squeeze my leg.
His hand climbs higher, moving up my stocking, but I grab his wrist before he can gain any more ground.
“I have to go,” I say, trying not to sound as disgusted as I feel. “I’m supposed to go meet Noah right now.”
“Where?”
“His house.”
He pulls his hand away. “I told you to gain his trust, not become his girlfriend.”
“What’s the difference?” I gently take my keys back from his hand, feigning a confidence I certainly don’t feel. “You want to get revenge on him. Well, so do I. What better way to do that than to make him fall in love with me only to betray him?”
Tank rolls the idea around in his head for a moment before his mouth quirks up into a smirk. “Angel, you’re more ruthless than I ever imagined. I love it.”
“I want to make sure he hurts.”
“Oh, he will. Believe me. You won’t be able to recognize him when we’re done with him.” Tank laughs and then raises one brow. “Can you handle being part of that?”
I swallow down the apprehension creeping up my throat and smile back. “Of course.”
Tank leans across the car again, and I freeze.
Then, he presses his dry lips to my forehead and climbs out of my car. “Until next time, angel.”
He clambers out.
I pull away as soon as he’s gone.
As I leave the lot, hands shaking around the wheel, I can see Tank waving goodbye in my rearview mirror.
26
Penny
I didn’t really have plans, but I’m afraid what will happen if I don’t go to Noah’s house as soon as I leave the school.
Is Tank or one of the other Hell Princes following me?
Will they drive by Noah’s house to see if I’m there?
What would happen the next time Tank sprang up out of nowhere if he knew I’d lied to him?
So, I drive to Noah’s.
Partly to not get caught in a lie…
And partly because I’m having doubts.
Serious doubts.
The rivalry between the Hell Princes and Golden Boys goes back years and some serious shit has gone down between them, but I didn’t think they’d really hurt Noah. Not in a serious way, at least.
Now, I’m not sure.
Tank is older and bigger and much crueler than I ever imagined.
I should have guessed when he threatened Delanie, but my denial was a protective instinct. I didn’t want to think I could have really found myself and my sister in so much danger.
I took the threat seriously, but I didn’t really let myself imagine what Tank would do if I betrayed him.
After his advances in the parking lot, I’m confident Tank is a man of his word
He’ll do anything, regardless of who it hurts.
Maybe if I warn Noah about the Hell Princes, tell him about the deal I made with Tank, and explain the threats they made against Delanie, he’ll be able to figure out a solution th
at can keep us all safe.
After all, he may not care about me anymore.
But he has to care about Delanie.
When I pull up in front of his house, I’m relieved to see his car parked in front of the garage. I hadn’t considered what I’d do if he wasn’t at home.
I don’t get nervous until I knock on the front door.
Will his mom recognize me? It’s been a long time, but I’m sure she remembers me.
If Noah hates me for what happened, she must hate me, too.
I wouldn’t even blame her.
The door opens.
It’s Mrs. Boone.
She looks older than she did the last time I saw her. There are more lines around her mouth, circles under her eyes, and she looks mussed. Less put together than she used to.
But she still looks like Noah. The same caramel waves in her hair.
“Hi, Mrs. Boone. I’m—”
“Penelope,” she finishes, saying my name with neither warmth nor scorn. I have no idea how to read her.
This was a dumb idea.
A terrible idea.
The worst idea in the history of ideas.
I have no idea what to say, and I’m about to run back to my car and speed away when she opens the door even wider and steps aside, beckoning me in.
“Are you here to see Noah?”
I nod and step into the entryway.
The same entryway I collapsed into the day my dad died.
That day, Noah was there to catch me.
Today, I’m on my own.
The house looks the same. White and cozy with eclectic antique furniture and curtains, pillows, and ottomans in rich, jewel-toned fabrics.
I used to imagine their sunken living room was the inside of a genie’s bottle. It felt secluded and protected from the rest of the world.
At the Boone’s house, I could forget everything—for a time.
There are fewer pictures, I notice, spotting a few bare spots on the wall where frames used to hang.
I can imagine the pictures that used to hang there. My belly flips with nerves.
“He’s downstairs,” Mrs. Boone says, pointing to the stairs. “Just head on down. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”
If I wasn’t so nervous, I’d laugh.
I’m fairly positive he won’t be pleased in the least.
I smile at her and walk towards the stairs. Halfway there, Mrs. Boone calls after me. “It’s good to see you, Penny. It’s been a long time.”
I only realize now, with a little distance, that her words are slurred.
She’s drunk.
“It’s good to see you, too, Mrs. Boone.”
I don’t know if she’s telling the truth, but I’m glad to hear it. Noah’s house always felt like home.
I’ve missed it.
When Noah’s parents were home, the basement was where we hung out. They believed it was public enough that we wouldn’t dare try anything down there.
But boy, were they wrong.
Walking through Noah’s basement is like walking through a museum of my sexual awakening.
Our first time together was up in his bedroom, but everything else happened in the basement.
More than sex, though, we got to know one another down here.
We watched movies, cuddled together on the couch, and talked about the stuff that mattered, while ignoring the stuff that didn’t.
His dad set up a music room for him in the basement, but it was for fun. Someone had to carry on the family legacy at Barber Engineering and pick up the family trade—making exorbitant amounts of money.
Noah wanted to be a musician.
I encouraged Noah to tell his parents the truth about what he wanted. His parents weren’t like my mom. They’d love him no matter what.
But he never did.
He never even played for me. Every time I asked, he was working on a new piece and would “play it for me soon.”
But “soon” never came.
So, when I hear guitar playing coming from under the door of his music room, I don’t open it right away.
I stand outside, silent, listening as the notes filter out to me, muffled slightly by the door, but ringing out true nonetheless.
I’ve always thought it was bullshit when people would say they truly heard someone when they spoke through their art.
But hearing Noah play the guitar—even a song I’ve never heard before—makes me feel like I’m hearing him for the first time.
It’s like studying a painting your entire life, searching for meaning, only to have it flipped upside down once you think you’ve figured it out.
Suddenly, everything seems different.
Noah wants me to think he’s a beast. That he hates me. That he’s determined to break me.
But that’s a lie.
Here, now, I know it’s true.
Noah is the same gentle, sweet person he was before.
He’s learned to hide it. To sneer in my face and force me to bend, to strip, to kneel.
But he can’t hide it in his music.
Just like my body revealed my desire to Noah, his playing reveals to me what’s in his soul.
The playing is so intimate, I begin to feel guilty, standing on the other side of the door, eavesdropping.
So I take a deep breath and knock quietly on the door.
The playing doesn’t stop, so a few seconds later, I turn the knob and open it.
The hinge squeals, loudly enough anyone would have heard, but Noah plays a few more notes, unbothered. He stops and looks over his shoulders, his expression open and relaxed.
Until he sees me.
As soon as his eyes land on me, it’s like he’s been electrocuted.
Noah jumps up from his chair, eyes wild, and gapes at me, unable to find the words.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer. “Your mom—”
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” He rips the guitar off his head and throws it a bit too roughly on the sofa behind him. “Who let you in?”
“Your mom did. I knocked, and she said you were down here.”
“Why did you knock? What are you doing here? Why were you—” He frowns at me and then looks over at the guitar, realization hitting him. “Were you listening to me play?”
I swallow down nerves.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I should have texted him first. As a warning.
That would have been smart.
But then he probably would have told his mom not to let me in, or he would have left to avoid me.
I would have missed his playing and the peek it offered into his head.
So I can’t really bring myself to regret dropping in unannounced.
“Only in the sense that I have good hearing and the music was coming under the door. I wasn’t, like, eavesdropping… much.”
Noah grimaces and hurls a point at the door. “You need to leave. Now.”
He starts moving towards me, ready to grab me and shove me out, so I quickly duck under his arm and hurry around him, moving further into the room. “I have something to tell you.”
“Oh, really? Me too. Here it is: fuck off.”
I roll my eyes. “Would you calm down? It’s just guitar playing, okay? I didn’t walk in on you having a wank.”
His perfectly straight nose wrinkles. “Having a wank?”
I lower my hand and make a suggestive gesture that, given what we did only a few hours earlier, feels a little too suggestive.
“I know what it means,” he spits, running a hand through his wavy hair. “It’s just…British.”
“It sounds more proper than ‘masturbating.’”
Noah scowls. “Would you stop saying shit like that? What did you come here to tell me?”
“I came here to tell you all the various slang terminology for the act of self-pleasuring.” I hold up a hand and begin listing them off. “Wank, jerk off, jack off, touch your—”
“Penny!”
I let my hand d
rop. “Sorry. I’m nervous.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
There’s venom in his voice, poison that confirms how much the mere sight of me bothers him.
It hurts.
I cross my arms and stand tall, squaring off with all five feet, ten inches of Noah.
“No, I don’t. I really don’t. Why do we have to hate each other? Why can’t we even be in the same room without wanting to tear each other apart?”
Noah’s eyes snap up at that.
Only then do I realize what I’ve said.
“I mean in a violent way, not in a sexy way… but we’ve been doing that, too!” I sigh and shake my head, frustrated with this confusing game of push and pull. “You were my best friend, Noah.”
“And my favorite television show used to be a cartoon cat and dog fused together at the waist. We all outgrow things.”
I shake my head. “You don’t outgrow love.”
Noah spans the space between us in two strides, wafting his spicy forest scent over me. He smells so much better than Tank.
Tank.
The thought reminds me why I’m here, that there might be more important things at stake than whether or not Noah likes me.
But he grabs my arm before I can speak. “Get. Out.”
I pull my arm away. “No, I won’t. Not until you give me a good reason.”
“Because I don’t want you here.”
“That’s not what you said in the bathroom today.”
His eyes narrow. “That was different.”
“Why? How is seeing me there and doing… that—how is that different than here and now? Is it because we’re in your house again? We’re in a place where we have memories and history? Is this making it all too real for you, Noah?”
“Stop,” he says, his hands shaking at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh no. You got to psychoanalyze me the other day. Well now, it’s my turn.” I step forward and stab a finger into his chest. “You run from your feelings, Noah. You’re so afraid of being hurt again—by me or anyone else—that you shut it all off. You act like you don’t care about anyone or anything, but someone who doesn’t care wouldn’t be as angry as you are right now. Someone cold and unfeeling can’t play guitar like you were playing earlier.”