by Henry, Max
Drawing a deep breath, I stare across the field while I answer. “There’s no natural order to this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I can’t figure out what I should do first to sort out this mess.”
“Neither.” He huffs, drawing my attention back toward him. “I got in some pretty deep shit when I was in my first year,” he muses, “but this crap is way past my paygrade. You’re messing with lawyers, for fuck’s sake.”
“He’s just Derek to me.” I close my eyes briefly, searching desperately for the right way to explain why their fancy titles and roles don’t intimidate me.
The only thing that scares me is losing Colt for good.
“If I sign it, I designate Colt to his fate. But if I don’t, then they won’t let up, Tuck.” I take a step toward him, slayed when he lifts his head and settles those deep brown eyes on me. “This is a game to them. Libby, Richard, Christian… they don’t care about consequences because they’ve been raised to believe they’re untouchable.”
“Because they are, right?” His gaze narrows a fraction.
“Mostly. Yeah.” The breeze picks up across the open field, flicking my hair across my face.
He reaches up and pushes it away before resuming his position. “I don’t want to tell you what to do,” Tuck confesses. “I don’t even want to be the guy who saves the day.” He shrugs. “I just want you to be safe. I want you to smile more, to laugh and to fucking enjoy yourself.”
“Tuck…”
“I’m doing the best I know how, okay?” He shrugs again, dropping his chin. “Even if I seem to fuck up again and again.”
Jesus. His pain. It’s palpable, echoed in my own despair at what this has become. “You’re doing fine,” I assure him. “It’s me who has the issues.”
“All girls have issues,” he teases with a grin.
“I just seem to have the most complex ones, right?” I give him a weak smile in return.
His hands slide free of his jeans, and he sets one on my hip. “I don’t think so.” One tug and I’m where I belong—in his hold. “You’re definitely the most stubborn, though.”
“Blame my mother for that trait.” I bury my face against his shoulder; palms pressed to his chest. “I still don’t want you to stop me.” He’s how I assumed when I pull back—mad.
“Going to that party tomorrow is guaranteed trouble.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“So why the hell do you have to do it so badly?” His gritted words are punctuated by the force of his hold on my hips.
“I want to win.”
‘The race?” Tuck tosses his head back, exposing the tan column of his throat. “Fuck, Lace. It doesn’t mean that much.” He frowns, dropping his head down again. “You can only just ride. You’re not ready to do that.”
“I figured.” Just didn’t know how to break it to Mandy yet without losing my new toy. “But I didn’t mean the race. I meant this. Now. Life.” My shoulders drop with a sigh. “I want those arseholes to feel as humiliated as I have.”
“Two wrongs don’t make a right,” he grumbles.
“Your dad teach you that?” I tease.
His features harden. “My mother, actually.”
Damn. “Sorry.” I duck my chin, ashamed even to be pressed up against him like this.
When the hell will my sense of compassion return? I forever default to a smart-mouthed little rich girl. I’m done with it.
“Hey.” Tuck’s thumb slides under my jaw, coaxing me to look at him. “Don’t.”
“I can be so damn insensitive,” I whine, “and what’s worse is that I don’t realise I’m doing it half the time.”
He grins, immediately making me feel better. “I forget you haven’t seen me at my worst.”
“I bet you weren’t that bad.” The bell tolls signalling class has started.
He tilts his head to follow the sound and sighs. “I give you permission to ask Maggie about it, okay. But for now, we should try not to get a late slip.”
His feet shift, and he moves to slide away from me.
I’m not ready to relinquish him yet—not when we’ve only just patched the holes in our relationship with flimsy, temporary gestures.
Tuck jerks his head back, taken by surprise when I set my palms either side of his jaw and force him to look at me. “I’m sorry I blamed you and pushed you away.”
“Forget about it.” The smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“No.” I shake my head, still gripping his tight. “I felt as though you were against me, and I rebelled.”
“I’m never against you, babe,” he murmurs. “Even when I don’t agree with you.”
“I think I understand that now.” My thumb traces his full bottom lip. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, Tuck, but I hope you can be patient with me.”
“Always.” He leans forward in my hold, bringing his mouth to mine.
I savour his taste. My chest constricts for what I denied myself. My legs go weak for what’s to come.
I don’t deserve you. The thought echoes around and around in my head, threatening to derail the progress we’ve made. I choose to ignore the venomous words and instead focus on the heat of Tuck’s breath, the warmth of his tongue, and the way the muscles in his jaw work as he kisses me with the same desperation that I feel for him.
I suppose I made myself suffer to justify how I felt about what I’m yet to do. About what I have done.
I just never meant to torture him in the process.
“Don’t you ever shut me out again,” Tuck growls when we break for air. “Ever.”
“I don’t think I could.”
His hands slide to my arse, hitching me up his legs so that I straddle his hips. “Good.” Firm fingers squeeze tight, sturdy thighs holding me in place. “Now kiss me some more.”
COLT
Portside Girls is precisely what the name leads you to believe. Three stories of converted factory buildings that face the waterfront. They have no sports grounds; the various teams bus twenty minutes across town twice a week to practice. What they do have is a vast indoor gymnasium and a dance studio that produces lithe, graceful girls.
Girls such as Willow.
Her wild hair floats around her face as she jogs across the street to where I wait, hands in pockets, leant against the grill of my Explorer. The girl is all legs and bony angles, but she pulls the dancer’s physique off well without looking emaciated like some of her peers do.
“You’re causing a stir in the halls, Colt,” she warns with a hint of humour. “Ms Corbet had to close the blinds to get our art class to pay proper attention.”
The corners of my lips tilt skyward. I can’t help what I am: good-looking and vain to boot. I love the boost I get from knowing that the girls are distracted by my mere presence.
“How was the interview?”
“So,” Willow announces with a lift of her brow. “I heard that Amber had her meeting at Riverbourne this afternoon, but it was short because she’s already decided she wants to attend Portside.”
“Did you now?”
“Mm-hmm.” She juts a hip into the front of the car, watching as the rest of the school pour out the doors to the ear-splitting sound of a static and high-pitched buzzer.
“You think the amount of money your parents dump into this school would allow for a better bell system,” I muse.
She grins, waving to a friend. “Not when they have the chance at producing a Prima Donna ballerina fourth year running.”
“They don’t think much of you girls, do they?”
“Because they don’t fix the bell?”
I shake my head before winking at a devilish-looking girl with jet-black hair. “Because they think all you’re good for is a short career as something pretty to look at.”
“Some of us are,” she murmurs, twirling a length of her strawberry blonde hair around her finger. “Did you get what you needed from Lacey?”
“You mean to as
k will I share what you gave me?”
Her lips twist, and she nods once.
“Not yet.” But I’m sure I will. My sister has too much heart to throw me under the bus when I make a gesture such as this.
The chatter of girls forced quiet for too long grows around us. Hen-pecking and bitching. It’s all the same, no matter where you are.
“I better get going.”
Willow moves off the Explorer, her brow pinched. “Why did you come? Surely not just to ask me if I’d heard any more about that girl you’re interested in.”
“Again,” I snap. “I’m not interested in her, just what she’s up to. And yes. That’s all I came for.” I tug the driver’s door open. “I’m sick and fucking tired of people being able to ignore me, so I figured I’d go straight for a face-to-face.”
Her lips turn down at the corners, and I almost feel bad about taking my frustration out on her. Up until she opens her mouth again.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”
I hesitate in the seat, hand on the door. “Why?”
“You’re going, aren’t you?” Willow rounds the open door. “To the party out in Arcadia? I was told, like, everyone has been invited.”
“What party?” And why the fuck am I the last to know about it?
“At some girl called Debbie? Or Didi’s house? Something like that. Amber spread the word when she was here.”
“Dee,” I mumble.
“That’s it.” Willow grins. “You’re going?”
“I wasn’t asked.”
She frowns, stepping back to let me shut the car door. Mere seconds later I’m navigating pedestrians to get myself the hell away from girls and their goddamn bullshit.
Lacey’s number rings out. I try it again and once more reach her voicemail. What the fuck?
I try Greer.
“Again?” she groans.
“What the fuck do you mean ‘again’?”
Her sigh echoes around the vehicle’s cabin. “As in, you’re popping up to disrupt my day again.”
“Doing something more important?” I taunt. “Or someone?”
“He does have fantastic skills with his tongue,” she deadpans.
“Greer,” I growl. “I am not in the mood for bullshit lies.”
“Who said I’m lying?”
My foot presses harder on the gas, easing off when I’m forced to ride the bumper of the car ahead. “You don’t play fair.”
“Relax.” She laughs. “I’m winding you up.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m tight enough as it is, thanks.” My fists ease on the steering wheel. “Have you heard about the invite to Arcadia?”
“What?” The humour has slipped from her tone. “No. What the hell, Colt?”
“Apparently, Amber put the call out for a rent-a-crowd when she was at Portside. You haven’t heard any rumblings there?”
“She hasn’t long left,” Greer says. “Had her interview at the tail end of the day. I only know because Ingrid was ready to slice her in two and we had our final class together.”
“The Chosen know, then?”
“I guess so. Hang on.” The sound shifts when she puts me to speaker. “Let me check my social feeds.”
“What have you been doing?” I tease. “Too busy to check social media. Are you feeling okay?”
Greer sighs. “I was busy with… stuff. Hold up.” Her end goes quiet. “Yeah. There’s a post about it from a guy in my English class.”
“Details?”
“Starts at seven. An address, and it’s B.Y.O.—everything.”
I bite my bottom lip so hard that I check if it bleeds in the rearview. “I can’t get hold of Lacey.”
“Neither.” Worry layers her word.
The side of my hand smacks the indicator. “I’m heading out to see her.”
“Not without me, you aren’t.”
“Fuck’s sake.” I switch the blinker off and stay in the left lane. “Be ready to go, Greer. I’m not waiting around.”
“How far away are you?” Rustling cuts through the line.
“About fifteen.”
“Yeah, that should be long enough,” she mumbles.
I frown at the dashboard display. “For what?”
“Like I said: stuff.”
GREER
I better give myself ten. No way on earth was I about to tell Colt what I had planned for myself before he phoned. It just would have been nice if my brain played ball and gave me a viable excuse instead of “stuff”. For crying out loud.
I shove my vibrator back underneath my winter jumpers and dash across to my walk-in closet. Libby dared us girls to buy them last year. We giggled for hours, poring over the online sites and discussing the vast array of what’s available.
Ingrid was the only one to chicken out, too scared that her parents would figure out what the charge on her credit card was really for. Libby, Lacey, and I were the only ones to go through with it, the goods arriving less than a week later.
I haven’t had the urge to use it until now.
Don’t judge. Putting up with that hot mess is hard work when all I can think about it how Colt’s lips feel on mine.
I want them other places too.
Your best friend’s brother, Greer. The mantra doesn’t cool me off quite the same since Lacey and I have drifted apart. What is loyalty between friends when she so quickly forgets about me the minute her foot hits the ground in Arcadia?
I emerge from the closet decked out in a cute ensemble that says meek yet ready for it. Black leggings, a super-tight grey tank top, and a black and dark grey patterned crop sweater. I plunge my feet into my slouch boots and then swipe up my keys and purse on my way out the bedroom door.
Mum stands at the stove in the kitchen, brow knitted while she stares at her iPad, resting on the counter to the side. A pot of something savoury simmers before her.
“I’m heading out for a while, okay?”
She doesn’t look up from the recipe, wooden spoon poised in her hand. “Be back for dinner, please.”
“What are you making?” Or attempting to make, I should have said.
She swears she started cooking because the girls in her coffee group thought it would be fun. I think she started out of sheer boredom. Now that I’m older and independent, she has way more time in her day than she’d like.
“Chowder,” she answers vaguely. “I think I mixed up the measurements.” She peers in the pot.
Her auburn hair sits twisted on top of her head, a loose dress farming her lithe figure. My mother is pretty in a natural way. Still, she enhances her looks with lash extensions and a fake tan, her hair always perfectly highlighted, and her brows sculpted and tinted as though she’s walked out of Photoshop.
She plays with an unfair advantage over the other ladies, and I’ve seen the way they look at her when her back is turned.
“Can I taste it?” I ask, taking a step closer.
She finally turns to look at me, her eyes going wide when she rakes her gaze down my outfit. “You look cute. Who are you heading out with?”
I don’t lie. There’s no point. “Colt. He’s taking me to visit Lacey.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “I’d rather you didn’t make a habit of it.” She dips the spoon into the pot bringing a small ladle of the chowder to the surface.
“Why?” I play innocent, keeping my curious gaze on her as I lean forward to taste the thick liquid.
“Rumours are going around about what she’s been up to. I’d rather you weren’t caught up in her mess.”
Nostrils flaring, I force my face to stay passive. “I think you added too much spice.” Sure enough, the recipe says one teaspoon of chilli, but the tablespoon measure sits dusted with the dark orange powder. “Double the rest of the mixture,” I suggest. “You can freeze the surplus for lunch on the weekend.”
She tilts her head, eyebrows high. “I suppose I could.”
“What have you heard?” I test as I back away. “About Lacey?”<
br />
Mum stalls, running her bottom lip softly between her teeth. “Just rumours, honey. Don’t worry yourself with them.”
I frown and then turn for the hall. “Don’t tell Dad who I’m with.”
“I won’t” she calls after me. “This time.”
Damn it. I check myself in the enormous mirror placed near the front door. Smoothing my tank over my taut stomach, I twist side to side and check my lines. Curve of my butt, shape of my thighs. Check. Suck the tummy in, push the chest out, shoulders back. The crisp instruction of my debutante coach rings in my ears.
I pull in a deep breath and check the angle that I hate the most: my back.
My arse, while pert from the side, sits wide at the outer corners from behind. I look nothing like the girls who point their backside toward the camera for the ‘gram. I make a mental note to add more abductors to my workout and then head out front to wait for Colt.
Eight positions on our porch later, he finally pulls up the driveway. I skip down the steps how I’d rehearsed in my mind, sure to keep my torso long and my legs extended the best I can while I climb in the passenger’s seat.
He hesitates, gold-flecked eyes roving over my form before he swallows and puts the Explorer in gear. “Did you get your stuff done?”
I smile to myself, watching the house as it shrinks in my side mirror. “Maybe later.” His shirt sits open at the collar, his appearance ruffled. “Where were you?”
“Visiting Willow.”
My gut clenches at her name. “Oh.”
He checks me from the corner of his eye and then pulls out onto the road. “Relax. It was brief and frustrating.”
“Isn’t that how all your sexual encounters are?” I quip.
He huffs a laugh. “You could change that.”
Ugh. I did not expect our conversation to hit molten this damn fast. “Why do you think Lacey hasn’t answered us?” Good move, Greer.
“I don’t know. That’s what frustrates me.” His hands grip the wheel as we cruise down the suburban streets.
“Have you tried calling your father?”
Colt flicks his head my way. “That would entail explaining the whole issue with Derek, so no, I haven’t.”