The Tenth Girl

by Aarons, Carrie

  He was flirting with me. Text flirting. I’d heard about this, had attempted to do it with one guy back in Florida, but had failed miserably. So this was what swallowing butterflies felt like. I could hardly stop the giggle from coming out as I typed my response.

  Harper: No one said anything about kissing. Considering you stole the last one, I’m surprised you even asked.

  Cain: Spontaneous kissing is so much better than permission kissing.

  Harper: I think any kind of kissing with you is dangerous.

  Cain: Now dangerous is the best kind of kissing. I think your mouth would agree with me there.

  I’m lying on my bed, and I flip over in a fit of giddiness. He is so brazen.

  Cain: You still there or did I make you blush so hard that you had to put the phone down?

  Harper: God, you’re cocky. I’m not discussing this. Thank your lucky stars I’m even letting you take me to this party.

  Cain: Be ready for a wild night ;)

  I didn’t text back after that, too amped up and nervous at the same time to respond. I didn’t want to ask too many questions or seem overeager, although I definitely was.

  Clothes were thrown about my room, most of them Mary-Kate’s. She’d loaned me a few shirts, a jean skirt, a pair of extremely short white shorts, and a dress that was cute. I think the dress was more my speed than any of them, but it would be a game time decision.

  MK had delivered them last night before she went to cheer at the game, which I heard the football team won. Not that I was listening on the radio or anything. And not that I let out a little whoop every time Cain threw a touchdown.

  My friend had left me with a pat on the ass, winked at me, and told me she couldn’t wait to watch me show up to the party with Mr. Popular. I had rolled my eyes at her, but smiled as I closed the door.

  Cain was picking me up at eight thirty. Which meant I had two and a half hours to fuss over myself, something I normally wouldn’t do. But this was my first official date. If you could consider going to get wasted by a bonfire a date.

  I’m about to get in the shower, when I hear something in the kitchen.

  Mom is humming, and I know that things with this new guy are going well. She always hums when she’s in a new, perfect relationship. Mostly, she’ll hum lovey-dovey Sinatra songs under her breath. The question is, how long will the humming last?

  I hope it’s for real. I hope the men in Haven are more reliable than the ones she dated in the Keys, but who knows? Normally, her humming wouldn’t last past a month.

  “What’re you doing?” I hear Grandma’s voice, and I round the corner to peer in on the two of them.

  They’re side by side at the kitchen counter, preparing dinner, and I can’t help but smile. I can see that both of them are making more of an effort to be kind to each other, to perhaps repair their broken relationship.

  “Humming a lovely tune,” Mom says as she continues to chop an item of food that I can’t see.

  Grandma is standing over the stove, stirring a pot that contains what smells like chili. “What song is that?”

  Mom scoops up what she’s chopping and walks it over to the pot, dumping it in while her own mama stirs. “‘I’ve Got You Under my Skin’ by Frank Sinatra.”

  My grandmother sighs, and I see a small smile creep onto her face. “Your father loved that song.”

  Mom looks at her back where she stands by the stove, a quick grin piercing her lips. And, as if nothing has transpired between them over the years, she goes to her. Loops her arms around her shoulders, her front to Grandma’s back. She sways her own mother, humming, until Grandma joins in.

  The two of them gently shift from foot to foot, quietly singing the tune together, as they cook dinner. And silently, I send up a prayer to the universe that this relationship lasts. That this guy is the forever guy.

  Because seeing my mother so happy that she can get along with her mother? Yeah, I could get used to that.

  The next two hours go by in a blur of dinner, trying to put some curls in my pin-straight hair, trying on everything in my room and practicing my smile in the mirror. God, I look like an idiot.

  I settle on the dress, a flowy maroon mid-length number with tiny wildflowers printed all over it. It shows enough cleavage for even my chest still to be modest, but it’s pretty and summery for this Texas heat. I throw a sweater in the bag I’m bringing, along with breath mints, my house keys, a granola bar and my phone and headphones. Who knows what this will be like? Maybe I’ll need supplies.

  By eight twenty, I’m standing in the front hallway, pacing back and forth and going to the window beside the front door anytime I hear a noise. The anticipation of when Cain will come rumbling down the long gravel driveway is killing me. I feel like I might shout from the rooftops or run to the bathroom to puke. All at the same time.

  At three minutes past eight thirty, headlights shine in the distance, and I can hear the booming Blake Shelton song singing out from his speakers.

  “Bye!” I call out to Mom and Grandma before they can come out and start talking to him. Or worse, ask us questions about what we are.

  I try to walk casually down the stairs, feeling those green eyes all over me. Climbing up into his Jeep feels like I’m getting into a chariot.

  “Hey, darlin’,” Cain drawls, and I can’t take my own eyes off of him.

  Dressed in worn blue jeans and a soft white T-shirt, sitting in his open top, he looks like some kind of rugged catalog model. His black hair is windblown, and in the setting sun, I can make out the strong jaw that leads to the lips that attacked mine just a week ago.

  “What, no quotes for me?” I tease him, feeling bold.

  One eyebrow raises as he pulls out from the front of the ranch. He reaches over, splaying a big palm on the exposed skin of my leg where my dress has risen. “I think I can woo you just fine without relying on my literary friends.”

  Yeah, he’s not kidding.

  He leaves his hand on my leg for a majority of the drive. It’s possessive, and his skin against mine burns in the best way possible. I shouldn’t let him paw me like this, show his dominance, but the embers scorching low in my belly make me forget about correcting him.

  I had told myself that I wasn’t going to let Cain Kent get to me. But really, I never stood a chance. I could say it was the naïve virgin in me, or that I was weak to his charm.

  But … and this was going to sound even more cliché … it felt cosmic. I felt as if Cain had shown me a side of himself that he hadn’t shown anyone else in Haven. How could it be possible that he’d quote different novels to anyone else? He didn’t even know about my writing and he’d done that.

  We pull up to a throng of trees, and Cain drives through them. The headlights show over a dirt road, with random fencing and broken gates that we speed past.

  Where are we going? “Why do I get the feeling that we are going wherever we are going alone?”

  Cain grins over at me. “Nah, although you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  He winks at me, and my heart flip-flops. Another minute or two, and a building comes into view. It’s large, an almost warehouse-type hanger in the middle of nowhere. And as I look closer at it, I can see lights twirling around inside. Cain pulls the truck into a field a few yards away, and the music replaces the rumble of the tires on the gravel. A Florida Georgia Line song pulses through the night, and I can now see the hordes of teens spilling out of this building.

  “Welcome to The Atrium.” Cain comes up beside me, slinging an arm around my shoulder.

  But before I can even step foot in this mysterious building he calls The Atrium, Annabelle, the princess of Haven High School, marches directly over to me. “Tell your slut mother to stay away from my father.”

  My heart skips a beat, falters, and then starts racing. My mouth goes dry, and Cain’s arm feels too heavy on me now. “What?”

  “You heard me. Tell your whore of a mother to keep her grubby little hands off of my father. He
’s way too good for her, and we all know she’s only after his money.” Annabelle practically spits at me, her brown eyes full of alcohol and fury.

  I had only been at this party for all of one minute, and I was already being screamed at like an outcast. “My mom … the guy she’s dating is your dad?”

  I almost can’t believe it, so I have to say it out loud. For the past month or so, Mom has been dating Annabelle’s dad. This couldn’t get any worse.

  And just like that, I wish that Mom would stop her humming. That the display I saw in the kitchen earlier would stop … even if it does make Mom happy. I can’t be on Annabelle Mills shit list.

  “Yeah, trailer trash. My dad. And yeah, I know that you come from some parking lot dump. Makes sense now, you living in a trailer. Take your trashy mother and stay far away from my family.”

  Someone grabs her slim arm and she shakes them off with a whip of her brunette mane. And then she walks off, forgetting about me and shaking her arms as someone proposes she shotgun a beer.

  She just called me out, in front of everyone, and thank God it’s dark because the skin on my cheeks is probably the color of cherries. Trailer trash. That’s what she’d said. So someone had told her where I’d come from. And she’d told everyone else.

  I duck my head, swiping at the angry, hot tears popping out of my lids.

  Tonight was supposed to be what teenage dreams were made of. It was supposed to be magical, butterfly-inducing, a chance to spend the night at Cain’s side. But I was a moron. I didn’t fit here, as was evident. I didn’t operate like these kids

  In the first five minutes, Annabelle Mills had brought the paper castle she’d been imagining straight down into the Texas dirt.

  And if I was being honest with myself, somewhere deep inside, I had a sinking feeling that Cain was the one who set this whole thing up.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cain

  Typically, if a girl started crying at a party, I’d dump her where she stood and go find a beer and a willing set of tits.

  Harper swipes at her eyes, the guys and girls around us going back to their party and forgetting about the scene Annabelle just caused.

  She scoots out from beneath my arm, her slim shoulders leaving a tattoo of warmth on my skin that I miss when she pulls away.

  “Gotta build a thicker skin here in Texas, darlin’,” I drawl, trying to brush off the war of words I just witnessed.

  But the advice just comes off dickish, and Harper’s blue eyes go wide before she turns on her heel and stalks away from me. I shouldn’t care, if she wants to have a bitch fit about mean girls, I should just go into one of my favorite places in Haven and just forget about this.

  I should go in there and find a girl who will fuck me in my open-top Jeep, add number ten to my list and win this competition.

  But for some stupid fucking reason beyond my comprehension, I follow her. Who knows, maybe I’ll comfort her and she’ll fall right on my cock. Said cock stirs at the thought of her tight, untouched pussy clenching around me.

  Shit, what the hell was I getting myself into with this girl?

  “Wait up, woman …” I half-heartedly jog after her, my legs taking me to her in three long strides.

  “You orchestrated this, didn’t you? Couldn’t wait to humiliate me in front of your crowd. What was it? Payback for that first day in class? God, I’m an idiot.” Harper whirls around and begins walking away again.

  If I was being truthful, setting a girl up to embarrass her would be something in my wheelhouse. And having someone humiliate her just so I could look like the knight in shining armor when I went to comfort her was a genius move.

  But, I hadn’t planned this. Although it would work to my advantage, when I convinced her it wasn’t me who had fed Annabelle information. Her mom was dating Michael Mills? How … odd.

  “Harper …” I follow her, the beat of the country music booming out of The Atrium lowering the farther I get away from it.

  “Stay away from me.” She doesn’t turn around.

  “I don’t care that you lived in a trailer park. Or that your mom is dating her dad.” I’m playing on the things that make her self-conscious.

  But instead of a silent pat on the back for using my best strategy to get her to sleep with me, I feel a twinge of guilt. That was such an asshole way to say it.

  She stops in her tracks, now back by where I parked the truck with nowhere to go. “Is there a cab company in this goddamn forsaken town?”

  “You’re not taking a cab.” I chuckle. “And no, there isn’t one if you even wanted to. Uber doesn’t exactly exist out here in the country, darlin’.”

  “I knew you were no good. I knew that you were just fucking with me,” she grumbles, looking off into the distance.

  Harper has her slim arms crossed and wrapped around her body, as if she’s trying to hug and comfort herself. I tentatively move toward the Jeep, toward her.

  “I promise you, I had nothing to do with that. Anna … she has her own issues. With life, this town, and with me. And I apologize that those got taken out on you. But you have to believe me, I wanted nothing more than to have a great time with you tonight.”

  It wasn’t a lie. I did want to have a good time. She doesn’t protest when I walk closer to her, and unwind her arms with my hands. I dwarf her, my body and frame so much bigger than her pixie form. It’s arousing.

  My hands rub up and down her arms, leaving trails of goose bumps in their wake.

  “I want to trust you.” Those wide, naïve eyes search my face.

  That’s the exact opposite of what you should do, I think.

  But instead, I say, “You should trust me.”

  Harper doesn’t speak again, and after a beat, I lead her to the truck. The backseat of it.

  I can feel her heart rate spike under my fingers, the ones that are laced with my own. My own pulse is roaring in my ears. I’m not sure why. Sure, I get a stiffy when I know I’m about to get laid, maybe my balls draw up tight. But my heart, the most vulnerable muscle in the body, never moves. Not even a twitch.

  We climb up into my Jeep, and I angle Harper, setting the scene for her because I know she doesn’t know what to do.

  Before she can overthink anything, I lean in and kiss her. Gently at first, to get her into the groove of things. My lips slide against hers, the rumble of arousal stealing over my muscles like the edge of a knife gliding along steel. Opening, I tentatively join our tongues, and growl when Harper moans into my mouth.

  Her moan spurs me to action, my tongue diving deeper and the kiss becoming more. Grabbing her waist, I shift her, practically pick her up in the air and plant her in my lap. The cute sundress, something innocent among the crop tops and booty shorts here tonight, splays over her thighs. It rides up and leaves room for my hands to roam her naked flesh.

  I don’t care that I’m missing the party that I’m supposed to be putting on.

  I don’t care that I’m not even participating in the debauchery that I was so keyed up to enjoy tonight.

  I don’t care that it feels better than it should. Deeper, more exciting, my emotions twisting in with something that should be purely physical.

  I don’t care that I’m almost coming in my pants just from the thought of touching her tits.

  The only thing I care about is that Harper is straddling my lap. That she’s letting me touch her.

  “Cain …” Harper breaks off the kiss, and I might have spoken too soon. “I … I want to, keep going. But … I haven’t done this.”

  The moonlight pours into the backseat, and I look her in the eyes. “We’ll go slow.”

  Normally, I would charm the female sitting in my lap. I would push them just a little bit, make them feel euphoria with my fingers, all just to get my cock in their pants. But the words leave my mouth and I know for a fact that I won’t break that promise. I try to tell myself it’s all part of my master plan, that I’ll entice her in like a fly to my spider’s web. I’ll be ni
ce, gentle, slow … until she’s all the way in and I can pounce on my prey.

  This time, she’s the one who leans back in for the kiss. Her small hands explore my jaw, tickling, feeling. Our mouths do that languid, hot dance, all time stopped or speeding … it was hard to tell which way was up. It took a lot for me to get lost in just kissing, and yet, I could not use my five senses for anything else but Harper Posy.

  My hands knead at the soft skin of her thighs, not too high to reach her underwear under her dress, but high enough to make her gasp into my mouth. When my hands make their way up her body, molding to the curves under the material she wears, her fingers trace down. We meet in the middle, tracing patterns over the other’s chest as I bite playfully at her bottom lip.

  Taking the plunge, I round second base. My fingers slip the skinny straps off of her shoulders, to find that she isn’t wearing a bra. My cock pulses at the thought of nothing but the thin cloth of dress between my hands and her gorgeous tits.

  Harper has stopped moving her mouth, hovering it there over mine, waiting for me to make a move. She isn’t protesting, so I gently shove the straps down. Down, down, down, so that they take the triangles of material over her breasts with them.

  I move back a fraction, my head hitting the headrest behind me.

  There she sits, atop my lap, in the moonlight. Her breasts are more than a handful each, and her nipples, rosy and flushed, are hard and budded under my gaze.

  “You’re a sight.” I bring a hand up, biting my knuckles because she’s so fucking sexy.

  So innocent, so beautiful, so womanly even. And untouched, that’s the best part. Mine to conquer first, like an explorer setting his flag on new land.

  I don’t do anything that night in the truck but make out with Harper and roll her nipples and tits in my hands. But I would be lying if I said it wasn’t the most exciting hookup I’d had in four years.