Drunk with passion, they staggered to the floor, Greg falling on top of her as he continued to kiss her.
Chapter 27 - Sam
Sam couldn’t believe she was here, couldn’t believe she’d actually borrowed Rose’s car to drive here, walked up the steps, knocked on his door. Then he had pulled her inside, and what little rational thought she still had went out the window.
Now she lay under that strong body of his, squirming under his insistent and passionate kisses. Oh, his lips felt like heaven on her heated skin. She slid her hands under his shirt and made him shiver, made him call her name and kiss her harder. She traced the muscles on his back in awe of how wonderful he felt to the touch. His hands also found their way under her top, to her abdomen.
How was it possible to feel so much? Had her body been in a numb slumber all her life? It was like he had awakened a part of her nervous system that had been dormant up until now. How else could his touch, that simple caress on her stomach, feel as if the universe had converged there?
She fumbled with his shirt buttons, clumsily getting them undone. She couldn’t believe her own nerve. When she tugged on his shirt, trying to peel it away from his shoulders, Greg paused and pulled away, his eyes wide, his lips parted and trembling.
Sam felt her cheeks burn with shame. What would he think of her now? That she was an easy girl who went looking for boys in their own houses to seduce them? Well, she couldn’t blame him, could she? That’s what she’d become after one simple half-kiss. She turned away, feeling terribly embarrassed.
Greg straightened, knees on either side of her wide hips. She thought he was going to get up, ask her to leave, but instead he removed his shirt very slowly and threw it to the side. Sam’s eyes faltered, making their way down his beautiful torso. His chiseled muscles seemed to glow with the light from a lonely lamp. He offered her a hand. She took it, and he helped her sit up. Swinging one leg to the side, he sat with his back against the wall and pulled her into a tight embrace.
She pressed her cheek to his warm, hard chest and listened to his heartbeat and rapid breathing. After a moment, when his inhales and exhales slowed, his voice rumbled deep in his chest.
“I’m glad you came,” he said. “I’m sorry I got carried away.”
He got carried away? She was the one who’d come, hoping for what had just happened . . . and more. She knew she should show restraint, but wasn’t it natural? Weren’t her primal instincts wired for this? Why did it have to feel wrong, immoral? Why had society turned such pure feelings into something dirty? Still, she was grateful to Greg for stopping, for bringing some sense into this torrent of emotions.
“I won’t lie to you,” Greg said. “It’s taking all I’ve got to keep my hands to myself right now.” He chuckled sadly and made tight fists.
Sam grabbed one of his hands, pried it open and interlaced her fingers with his. They both sighed when the seal was complete. He lifted their interlocked hands and kissed the back of her fingers, his lips lingering, lingering, lingering. Her eyes fluttered closed.
“I want it all,” he said, his hot breath on her hand.
“Me too,” she said shamelessly. And she did. Nothing else mattered, not the fact that she was only sixteen, that she might be fated for another. Right now, she chose Greg, and right now felt like it could carry her into forever.
“Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe—” His tone was reluctant, as if these were the last words he wanted to say, but he had to say them.
“Don’t,” she cut him off. “Nothing has ever felt more right in my life. I feel whole, part of something real, for the first time ever. Don’t cheapen this by saying it’s wrong.”
“I don’t want it to be,” he said fervently, his muscular arm pulling her harder against him. She kissed his chest and flushed. She shouldn’t be pressed against him this way. He was shirtless and glorious, an unearthly temptation that made her blood surge. She took a deep breath and turned her face away from his intoxicating scent.
“You feel just right in my arms,” he added. “I feel like I’m part of you, and you part of me. We are not wrong, could never be.”
And she knew he was right. They belonged together. She could feel the connection, like something tangible, physically real. She could almost see it, touch it.
“But—” he started.
She put a finger over his lips, feeling the fleshy moisture, the latent promise of another kiss. “I said don’t. Not now. Maybe tomorrow. Today no buts. Just you and I, like this.” She slung a leg over his lap, faced him and took his beautiful face between her hands.
Slowly, she brought her mouth to his and caught his lower lip between hers. He kissed her back hungrily, sliding his hands around her back. They began exploring each other deliberately and gently, memorizing their taste, their scent, and the exquisite perfection of their togetherness.
Chapter 28 - Greg
Greg spent the rest of the weekend getting ready for school. He went to the store and bought school supplies: Notebooks, a backpack, and a pair of sneakers. On Monday, he was the first one in his classroom. He sat at the last desk of the last row, waiting for Sam.
Slowly, the classroom filled up. Try as he might, he was unable to be inconspicuous. Nobody seemed able to take their eyes off him. The girls for reasons that embarrassed him, and the guys for ones that made him clench his fists.
Where is Sam? Maybe looking into her honey-colored eyes would dispel his urge to flee. But when a familiar gaze finally crossed the threshold, it belonged to the last person he ever thought to find here.
Ashby!
The only good thing that could be said about that jackass’ presence was that all the attention that had been directed at Greg immediately went away. With a regal and confident air, he stepped in, practically radiating light from his blond highlights. Greg had only seen him once, but he immediately noticed the difference in his aspect. Not that he had needed one before, but he looked as if he’d been through a make-over, aided by Calvin Klein himself.
The fancy, board-of-directors suit was gone, replaced by a pair of high end gray jeans and a navy blue button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows. His hair had been cut, replacing the long style with a messy, spiked one. He wore a wicked-looking watch with a wide, leather strap that even matched his boots. Everything about him exuded coolness and wealth, making Greg feel inferior in his stone-washed jeans and Pacers t-shirt.
Upheaval was a mild word for the reaction in the room. While Greg had wanted to hide under the desk, Ashby thrived in the spotlight. He walked in and immediately started introducing himself to everyone, male and female alike.
Greg seethed. Obviously, the guy was used to being the center of attention. Meanwhile, Greg’s pre-morphing baggage still made him feel and act like the same gawky, nondescript kid he used to be—even if he looked nothing like that anymore.
Ashby was busy shaking hands and making chit-chat when Sam walked in the room. Without missing a beat, he spun around to face her, making full use of his built-in Sam Radar. Shocked, she froze in her tracks and gaped. Taking advantage of her dumbfounded state, Ashby took her hand and planted an honest-to-god kiss on it. Greg clenched the edge of his desk, full of impotent fury.
“It’s so good to see you again,” Ashby said, playing a completely different game than the last time they’d seen him.
A nervous half-smile graced Sam’s lips. Greg felt his stomach twist in disgust, as well as something that felt like inevitable defeat. Everybody stared wide-eyed. Sam pulled away and pressed her books to her chest. Her eyes flew around the room looking for help. Greg wasted no time. He stood and waved, towering over the other students.
“Um, good to see you, too,” she said with a meek smile as she circumvented Ashby, headed in Greg’s direction.
A flash of anger passed Ashby’s features, but he hid his frustration almost instantly, replacing it with a pleasant grin.
“What is he doing here?” Sam asked in a whisper, taking the seat in front of Greg and tur
ning to look at him.
He shrugged uncertainly, but he knew the answer all too well.
“Are you okay?” Greg asked.
Sam looked pale, conflicted, sick to her stomach. She nodded, taking a deep breath and blinking slowly to regain her cool. Exuding confidence, Ashby took the seat next to Sam. He sat facing her, beaming a charming smile her way. Sam stubbornly faced the front of the classroom. Greg stared into the back of her head, but trying to ignore the guy was like ignoring a blister on your eyeball.
“Hello, Greg,” Ashby said with strained cordiality.
Greg gave a curt nod.
“Brooke,” Sam yelped, getting up and practically running toward her friend who’d just walked in the door.
“You realize you’re making things harder on her, I’m sure,” Ashby said as they watched Sam’s escape.
Greg couldn’t argue with that. He looked around, hoping no one could hear them in the commotion of the classroom.
Ashby’s mouth quirked to one side. “Harder on yourself, too. What are you going to do when she morphs and starts seeing you as she should?” he said the last bit as if he were referring to vermin.
“And what is that?” Greg asked between clenched teeth, unable to stay quiet any longer.
“Her Keeper. Nothing else. I’ve read up on your caste. You are truly mixed up.”
“Are you sure that’s all I am to her?”
Ashby’s eyes tightened. So he had considered the possibility that Sam’s feelings for Greg might not change after her transformation? Still, he said, “I’m positive.”
“Yeah? Then how do you explain me? What if the same happens to her?” Something had gone wrong with Greg’s metamorphosis. All his hopes were riding on the same thing happening to Sam.
“You’re an aberration, a freak of nature. The chances of that are one in a million.”
Greg’s nostrils flared. He had to make a conscious effort not to beat the guy to a pulp on the first day of school. Instead he cracked his neck and went for a little venom.
“So if she isn’t like me, how come she’s . . . reciprocating?”
“She’s just confused and you’re taking advantage of that. Nothing else,” Ashby said, going red in the face, his voice edging close to anger. “It’s not the Morphid way. Not the right way.”
“The right way? I personally like the idea of having free will and not a single-track mind driven by mindless instincts.”
“But of course you do. You grew up mostly among Humans,” he spat the word out. “You probably don’t even know that the divorce rate for Morphids is zero, that children grow up with loving parents who are always around, that husbands and wives don’t cheat, that there are no crimes of passion . . .”
Greg felt like the guy could go on and on listing reasons why Morphids, with their perfectly mapped out destinies, were better than humans. All Greg knew, though, was that if Ashby kept spewing words in that irritating English accent, Greg would be the one committing a crime of passion—one on which prissy, metro boys got their head ripped off clean.
“Yeah, like perfect, little trained monkeys,” Greg snapped. “Spare me the lecture, okay? Look, man. I wish I wasn’t . . . broken or whatever. You’re right, things would be a lot easier for me, but it is what it is. If it makes you feel any better, I’m . . .” He searched for Sam, who was now trying to keep Brooke from walking their way. “I’m sorry.”
Ashby nodded slowly, seeming to reappraise him. “Fair enough,” he said. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Well, well,” Brooke said, looking from Greg to Ashby. “Aren’t you a lucky girl, Sammy?”
Sam stood behind Brooke, pulling her by the arm and wincing.
“But much too selfish, I should say,” Brooke continued undeterred. She turned to Sam. “You have got to tell me where you find them.”
Sam turned a new shade of red and muttered a curse under her breath, one Brooke had no trouble ignoring.
Greg smiled, a light bulb coming to life in his head. “Sam, where are your manners?” Yes, he’d just apologized to the guy, but this was war, after all. “Brooke, let me introduce you to Ashby. He’s . . . British, quite the worldly man. Seems to know everything about fashion and hair salons . . . apparently.”
Ashby self-consciously took a hand to his newly cropped hair. It was obvious someone had gotten to work on his appearance, and with a vengeance. In Greg’s opinion, the look was too much for any self-respecting guy, but it was obvious the female population appreciated it. For a second, even Sam seemed to cast an indulgent look his way. Greg swallowed through the bile burning his throat.
Brooke sat down at the desk in front of Ashby. She batted her eyelashes. “Nice to meet you, Ashby.”
Eyes like daggers shot in Greg’s direction. He shrugged. If Ashby could play games, he could, too. Although he had the terrible feeling that in this match, he was the underdog.
Chapter 29 - Sam
On the second week of school, Sam barely managed to pull her cold feet out of bed. Halfheartedly, her toes searched the floor for her bunny slippers and found them. She tried to slip her feet inside, but they slid away. A curse brewed in her throat, but didn’t come out. Her exhaustion was too much, even for a simple four-letter word. She’d had a terrible night, lying awake until midnight, uttering oaths against Ashby, Greg, Brooke and . . . herself. School had been awful since the very first day, when Ashby showed up like a knight in shining Armani.
His presence sickened her. Not in a simple nauseating kind of way, but in a heart wrenching and confounding-emotional-roller-coaster one. She couldn’t stand the way he looked at her, or how he always tried to find excuses to get close and talk—no matter how much she pushed him away.
I wish he’d never come along.
It was a common thought for her, but one that never failed to produce a strange void in her chest. She put a hand to her breastbone and growled in frustration as the unwanted emotion assaulted her. She liked Greg, not Ashby! The moment Greg kissed her at the party, she’d made up her mind. The way she felt every time she remembered his lips on hers was too strong and real to deny.
Ashby only made her feel guilty and powerless and mean. The business with him was different, a compulsion that at times felt normal, but for the most part felt absolutely wrong on principle. She hated how it altered her moods and feelings, like she had split personality disorder. Lunacy was a mild term to describe her state of mind, and it was all Ashby’s fault. All of it. At least now, Greg’s initial hot-cold behavior made sense. Clearly, he’d been battling the same demons.
“Damn it!” She punched her pillow. Cursing and hitting stuff had become a common way to release her frustration. She wanted to clear her head, run away to some frigid land where frostbite, and not all this mess, was the only concern on her mind. And to top it all off, today she felt sick.
Great. Just great!
With unsteady steps, she walked out of her room toward the only bathroom in the small two-bedroom apartment. But no matter how small the place, she was glad James and Rose let her stay after summer break ended. Relieved to find the bathroom empty, she closed the door and pressed her back against it, hand fumbling with the lock. She felt as if she’d just crossed the English Channel—not just the narrow hall. How was she going to get through the day if she felt this bad already?
The second half of her night had consisted of intermittent dreams of light, troubled sleep, and groggy wakefulness. Aches and pains made the bed feel as comfy as a bumpy stretch of highway. With her eyes shut, she inhaled deeply and wished for the flu. It has to be the flu, she thought, denying the growing suspicion in the back of her mind.
Sam could almost hear her eyelids slide open when she cast a frightful gaze toward the mirror on the medicine cabinet. She didn’t want to look at herself, afraid to find the reflection of a stranger.
That’s stupid. That’s not the way it works.
Greg had said she would feel sick at first, and once it started, the proces
s would take two weeks or so. Still, she was scared to look. She wasn’t ready for that. She never would be.
“’Morning, Sam,” Rose said from the other side of the door.
Sam jumped. What am I gonna do? How was she going to hide this from James and especially Rose, who never missed a thing. Greg had been trying to explain a plan of his, but she’d been living in denial, shutting him down as soon as he mentioned it.
“Are you all right in there?” Rose asked when Sam didn’t answer.
“I’m fine,” Sam croaked. She cleared her throat. “I think I may be coming down with something,” she added.
“Oh no! A summer cold?”
“Maybe . . .”
“Do you need me to call the school so you have an excuse?”
“No, no! Uh, I have a quiz and a paper to turn in. I’ll see how I feel in a little bit.” There was no way she could go through this without Greg. She desperately needed to talk to him.
“Your call. Look in the medicine cabinet. There’s some cold stuff in there,” Rose said, walking away.
Inhaling again, Sam approached the medicine cabinet and warily scanned her face on the mirror. She looked terrible. Nothing like the Malibu Barbie Greg kept talking about. More like Little Orphan Annie after a week of sleeping under a bridge. Sam huffed.
Tentatively, she took her hand to the back of her neck. She hesitated, then ran her fingers down her cranium. Brushing her skin lightly, she traced the path of her spine. Her hand froze, and her eyes went wide with horror, pupils shrinking to a pin prick.
No. She shook her head, grasping the sink with both hands, leaning into it with a nauseating pressure in the pit of her stomach.
It’s true. It’s all true. She couldn’t pretend any longer. Greg and Ashby weren’t crazy, no one had conceived an evil plot against her, and no Punk’d crew was lurking around ready to jump out and tell her it was all a joke. There was something on her back. Some kind of . . . bump. Right where Greg said it would be. She didn’t dare turn to look at it. How much time did she have before . . . ? She couldn’t remember what Greg had said, not as confusion smothered her thoughts like a thick layer of gauze.
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