Her picture is plastered all over social media, and I watch the wave of those who are actually friends with her post things, versus those who have seen her once and are pretending to be friends with her for the sake of having a personal involvement. I refuse to be that person. I don’t really know Willa. But I want her home safe. I share the photos, adding, “Come home soon, Willa!” But I’m not going to sit here like some of my sick classmates, hoping for a “Wow, so sorry about your friend” type of response.
Everyone’s cleaning up after dinner when there’s a loud knock on the door. Dad excuses himself to go answer it, Mom peeking around to see who could be knocking on our door on Christmas Eve.
To our surprise, it is Brady Waylon, one of Dad’s good friends from high school, and one of the members of the Tilden Police Force. He’s in uniform.
“Brady?” Dad asks. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Mom appears next to Dad at the door while the rest of us peek in. The house grows eerily quiet for it being Christmas at the Porters’.
Brady clears his throat.
“Evening, Joe, Caroline,” he says, nodding to my parents. “Joe, I’m sorry to have to do this on Christmas Eve, but I need to see if you can ride down to the station with me. We are working the Willa Mills case, and we have an eyewitness that places you at the same store at the time of her disappearance.”
I feel my heart beating in my stomach. This doesn’t feel right. Tucker squeezes into the narrow hallway next to me, and I feel him tense up, which is very out of character.
“Sure, yeah, absolutely,” Dad says, leaning over to grab his hat and coat off the rack. He turns around to kiss Mom on the cheek. “I saw Willa last night. I’ll help any way I can.”
He turns to follow Brady out the door when Mom calls after them.
“This is just to help with the investigation, right?” Mom asks. She doesn’t ask the full question, but she doesn’t have to. I know what she’s wondering, because I’m wondering the same thing. Is my dad in some sort of trouble for this?
“Yes, Caroline. Just protocol,” Brady says. She nods and kisses Dad one more time.
“Call me if you need me to pick you up,” Mom tells him. Brady nods in her direction.
“I’ll bring him home,” he says.
Dad turns back to Mom.
“Go on back inside, hon. Enjoy the rest of the evening. I’ll be back soon,” he says with a smile on his face. But as he gets into the passenger seat of Brady’s squad car, I’m not quite sure that I believe him.
3
Wyatt
I watched her take off from the bar like a bat out of hell, and I don’t know why, but I had to follow her. Mind you, I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to say, but at least now I have the excuse of needing to go change my shirt.
I slide my hand through the elevator doors, still with no plan as to how I’m going to respond. Apologize? A bit late. And to be fair, I had a good excuse. Explain? Don’t need to. She knows what happened. Ask her how she’s doing? I’m pretty sure she’d slit my throat right here in this elevator.
So I just get in, finding her eyes, then posting up against the back of the elevator. I see the “27” button glowing, so I know we’ve got a bit of a ride. I’m on the 24th floor, but I’m not cutting this short. Not until I can get my fucking foot out of my mouth and figure out what to say. What exactly do you say to the girl whose life you tore apart all those years ago?
She steps farther away from me, crossing her arms over her chest and letting out an extra-frustrated sigh.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she finally breaks the silence, her eyes staring straight ahead. The elevator ticks slowly from floor to floor.
“Well, thanks to a clumsy bar-goer, I’m in need of a clean shirt,” I say, tugging on the tight cotton of my button-up. She flashes her eyes to me.
“Nothing clumsy about it. All done with intent,” she says then turns back around. “I meant, what are you doing here? In Florida? At Melladon?”
“Oh, that,” I say, leaning back to grasp the handrail behind me. “I’m the keynote speaker for graduation.”
Her jaw drops, and she turns her head toward me.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she whispers. I shake my head and can’t help but smile.
“No, actually. I guess they found it somewhat impressive that one of their alumni—and a minority, at that—has gained so much success before the age of thirty,” I say with a smug smile. She rolls her eyes.
“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, pulling her arms tighter over her chest, giving her breasts a lift—not that they need one. She’s a lot more grown up than I remember. The last time I saw her was in the courtroom. She was a senior in high school, so past the awkward stage but not quite as mind-boggling as she is in this moment. Not quite the long legs, tan skin, ass-to-die-for that she has now.
But the major difference is that this version of Maryn appears to loathe me even more than the original. And I don’t know why, but it’s kind of hot.
“So,” I say, my eyes trailing across the floor of the elevator as we approach the 20s, “how have you been?”
Her eyes flick to mine again, widening.
“How...how have I been?” she asks, her voice chillingly quiet. “How. Have. I. Been?”
I take a step back. Yikes. Might have unleashed the beast with that one. I step forward and press the 24th button, feeling like this ride might need to come to an end faster than I was hoping.
“Look, Maryn, I just...”
“You just what, Wyatt? Couldn’t just let me have my college graduation?”
I snort.
“You really think that, after all this time, I actually remembered—or even knew in the first place—that you went here? And if I did know, you think I gave a damn?” I ask her. Finally, the doors open, and I step off.
But to my surprise, I hear her thick heels pounding out of the doors behind me.
“Do you know who’s coming to graduation?” she asks. I keep walking down the long hall to my room. I can practically feel the heat radiating off of her body. “My fucking family. My father.”
I stop walking and take in a deep breath. I close my eyes and turn slowly to look at her.
“I...” I start to say with a shrug. What the fuck do I say? I sigh. “I’m sorry.”
I turn around again and begin walking back down this never-ending, godforsaken hallway.
“You’re sorry?” she says, her voice getting louder with every word. “Fuck you, Wyatt. Fuck. You.”
I turn and look at her again over my shoulder as I finally reach my door. I’ve never cussed at a lady, but this one is testing me.
“Easy,” I warn, holding a hand up. “Those are some fightin’ words.”
I watch as her eyebrows jump. She remembers the last time I said that to her just as clearly as I do. “You need to remember that we have both been through some shit.”
She snorts, and I feel her getting closer and closer to me.
She pushes up against me so that we’re chest to chest—or, we would be if she wasn’t so short—and I can feel her breath and smell her hair, both of which have me feeling weirdly intoxicated. She has fire in her eyes, and it’s lighting me up from the inside out.
“I have only been through some shit because of you,” she says. I narrow my eyes at her, looking down at her. I don’t know why I do it. I don’t know what the fuck possesses me to do it, because it could go so incredibly, horribly wrong. But I wrap my hands around her head and lean down, kissing her hard. It lasts longer than I mean for it to. She reaches up and clutches onto my wrists for a moment, and I push my tongue into her mouth.
Jesus, that hate tastes good.
Just as she’s stirring up my insides, making my dick jump and pull toward her, she pushes away. She shoves my hands off of her face and pounds her hands against my chest, knocking me into my door.
“What the fuck was that?” she asks, wiping her mouth. But I’m not dumb. I can see
that she’s asking herself just as much as she’s asking me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying to slow my breathing down. But I know it’s too late now. I full-on want the shit out of this girl.
“Fuck you, Wyatt,” she whispers. But to my surprise, she takes a step closer to me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again. Another step closer to me. I have my back to my wall and my hands at my sides. If she wants this—and God, I hope she does—she’s going to have to make the next move. She stopped it once. I’m not pushing myself on her.
“Fuck. You.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper one last time. She pushes herself up against me and presses up onto her toes, kissing me again. She wastes no time getting her tongue into my mouth, and it takes my breath away. I wrap my arms around her waist, rubbing her back, twirling my fingers through her long blonde hair. My, my, Miss Maryn has certainly grown up.
I clutch onto the back of her head, pulling her into me closer. She takes a little jump and wraps her legs around my waist, and I know she can feel what she’s doing to me. I stop for a second to reach back and unlock my door. I carry her inside and shut it, pushing her up against it and kissing her neck like a fucking madman.
Jesus Christ, I hardly know this girl. But it’s like this trance. I can’t stop. And I’m really fucking hoping that she can’t, either.
I pick her up off the door and take a few steps toward the wall beside it. I slam her back against it, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her chin, her lips. I bite her bottom lip as she moans and drops her head back against the wall, giving me perfect access to leave my mark on her. Not too dark, I tell myself, she’s got graduation.
She’s writhing underneath me, letting herself move up and down against me, and it’s making my insides churn.
I push off the wall, and we pause for a moment, catching our breath.
Our eyes meet, and I wait anxiously for the moment she realizes what she’s doing—and who she’s doing it with. That fire in her eyes is still there, but it doesn’t seem to be pushing her to stop.
She slides down to her feet and reaches for the hem of my shirt, pulling it out of my slacks. She swiftly unbuttons the whole thing in a second’s time, sliding it down off of my arms. I watch as her eyes trail my chest and arms. She’s not the only one who did some growing up. She reaches down and unbuckles my belt, pushing my pants down to the ground. And suddenly, I’m aware that I’m very close to being naked in front of her, and she’s still fully dressed. I reach up and untie her top, yanking it down with one quick motion. To my pleasant surprise, she’s got no bra on, and I know every inch of me is now pressing through my boxers, pointing directly at her. I reach down and unbutton her tight-ass skinny jeans, kissing her neck as I do it.
“You’re gonna have to work a little magic to get these babies off,” she whispers. I pull back and look at her.
“Do you want me to?” I ask. She answers by pulling me into her, plunging her tongue into my mouth and ending it with a long, slow tug on my bottom lip with her teeth.
“Do it,” she says, and I waste no fucking time. In a second, she’s in front of me in nothing but a pair of yellow, lacy panties, and it’s taking every muscle in my body not to rip them off of her. She steps closer to me, pushing me so that I’m up against the bed. She puts a hand on my chest and shoves me down onto it. I’m on my back now, bracing for her.
She climbs up my body slowly—painfully slow—her eyes fixated on mine. She gets to me and leans down to kiss me again.
“I’ve hated you for so fucking long,” she whispers, nibbling at my earlobe. The sensation gives me chills and makes me tighten my grip on her ass.
“I know,” I whisper back. She bends her head to kiss my neck, sucking on it gently. Careful, I think, graduation is coming.
“I still do,” she whispers. I nod, my eyes closed, rolling back in my head as she licks and bites.
“I know,” I whisper again. Suddenly, her hands are at the rim of my boxers, and she pulls them down, letting me spring free.
“I wanted you to be miserable,” she says, kissing my jawline and letting her fingers trail down my stomach. I groan when she grabs all of me, pumping her hand up and down as she does. I let her work for a moment, then I flip her over so that I’m on top.
“I know,” I whisper again. I slide my fingers down into the top of her panties, down until I find the deepest, wettest part of her. And I’ve just gotten confirmation that she wants me as badly as I want her.
I slide my fingers down between her folds, letting them explore for a moment before plunging them inside of her. She gasps, clawing at my back and biting my chest.
I go wild for a moment inside of her until she stops me and rolls me back over.
“You ruined everything,” she says, staring into my eyes. I swallow. This isn’t exactly my idea of dirty talk, but it would be pretty hard to kick the Maryn-high I’m on right now. I reach up and grab her face, pulling it toward mine.
“I know,” I whisper again, leaving a trail of kisses from behind her ear, up her jawline. “But for the record, I’ve always hoped you were happy.”
She pushes back, staring at me for a moment.
Then, to my very-pleasant surprise, she slides down onto me, so perfectly quick that I feel dizzy.
And then, she rides the shit out of me, kissing me hard, biting my lip, sucking on my neck. I feel her nails digging into my back, her legs pressing into me, her whole body clenching around me. I can feel how conflicted she is, like she wants to hurt me but she needs me at the same time. I feel myself getting close, but I’m not ready for this to end. I don’t know what the fuck this crazy, hate sex is, but I know I’d be a fool to think this is going to happen more than once. As she has reminded me several times, she hates me to my core.
She just has a weird way of showing it.
I let her rock back and forth a moment longer before flipping her onto her back. I get up on my knees and pull her legs up onto my shoulders. Her tan skin looks a little brighter against my dark chest, and every inch of her looks fucking delicious. I pound back into her, and she loses it, panting and clawing at the sheets. And in the most beautiful sound of my fucking life, she calls out my name—heavy, breathy, subconsciously. Her eyes close as she breathes in and out. I let myself release and then fall to the bed next to her.
I pull her into my chest, spooning her, our bodies breathing in sync. She draws in a long, slow breath then pulls my arms around her tighter.
4
Maryn
I wake up, eyes fluttering. This is not my finest moment, because I actually don’t remember where I am. As I become more aware of my surroundings, I feel the weight of an arm across my body, and I look down.
I see the mocha-brown of his skin, the bulging veins.
Oh, that’s right. I fucked Wyatt Mills.
The man who ruined everything. Everything.
I gasp audibly as I remember the last evening’s occurrences, including the most intense orgasm of my life, and move like crazy to get out of the bed. I run across the room, picking up my clothes and throwing them on.
“What’s going on?” he asks groggily, pushing himself up and rubbing his eyes. God damn, he’s hot. He was one of the only mixed kids in town; his dad was the first black football player to get a scholarship from high school. His green eyes came from his mom. And his sister...well, she was just as beautiful as he is.
But I have no time to admire. I need to get out of here, back to my apartment, to get ready for the influx of family and graduation festivities.
And I need to get back to hating Wyatt Mills and pretending like last night never fucking happened.
I turn to him as I secure my messy bun with a hair tie.
“I can’t believe we...” I start to say. I stop and grab my bag off of the floor. I make a beeline for the door, but he calls my name.
“Maryn,” he says, his morning voice still smooth as ever. I take in a deep breath and turn to him slowly.
<
br /> “Last night was a huge fucking mistake,” I say without lifting my eyes to him. Then, I charge out of his door and toward the elevator. I have approximately one million texts from my friends. The last is from Ellie.
If you don’t answer in the next hour, we’re calling the cops, it says. I dial her.
“Where the fuck are you?” she answers. Keely is in the background.
“Yeah. You better have a good explanation, bitch,” she says.
“I have an explanation, but I’m not sure it’s good,” I tell them as I tap my foot anxiously, waiting for the elevator to get here. “Please tell me you guys haven’t left the hotel yet.”
“We’re in the lobby,” Ellie says. “Hurry up.”
I get off the elevator and see the two of them looking almost as bad as I do. Except, they stayed to drink longer, so they might actually look worse.
Me, I’m just hungover on the viciously amazing sex I had with the man of my nightmares.
“What the fuck? Where were you?” Keely asks, thrusting a cup of coffee at me.
I take a sip and look up at them.
“In someone’s room,” I say sheepishly.
“Someone? Like, a guy?” Ellie asks. I nod, putting a hand to my head.
“What, are we playing twenty questions?” Keely asks. “Who the fuck was it?”
I draw in a long, slow breath then look up at them.
“Wyatt Mills,” I mutter. I give them a moment, waiting for them to catch on. They aren’t from my hometown. The Mills-Porter fiasco wasn’t such a big deal down here.
“Wait, is that the dude who—” Keely starts. Ellie gasps.
“No fucking way,” she says. “The guy who...your parents...oh my God!”
“Shh, I know, I know,” I whisper. “I’ll tell you all about it, but can we please talk in the car? I have no idea when he’s coming down here, and I don’t want to be here when he does.”
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