Red: Burning Desire (Spectrum Series Book 7)

by Allison White

  My hunger diminishes, and I grab her wrist gently. “I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?” I remember I was a little rough at one point. I was just so caught up in everything that my mind got sort of clouded with lust and my love for her.

  “What?” She laughs but stops when I don’t join her. She scrambles up, holding the thin bedsheet against her chest. “Oh, Noah. Sweet, sweet, Noah,” she croons and reaches over to cup my cheek. “You are the best thing to ever inhabit this messed-up planet. I sort of want to bottle you up and ship you off to Mars,” she jokes with a lazy smile, thumb rolling over my cheek.

  I cover her hand with mine, brows furrowed. “Red, was last night, you know…okay for you?” I feel embarrassed. This is the first time I’ve acted so shy, asked a girl if she enjoyed us having sex. I never had to ask because they were making breakfast the next morning, proposing more in the shower. But with Red, it’s different, because I can’t tell what she’s thinking sometimes, like now, unfortunately.

  “Are you kidding me?” she says, and I look into her eyes, hesitant of her wide smile. “Last night was amazing, and I’m not just saying that to stroke your ego or anything. I genuinely haven’t experienced anything like that before. Makes me…kinda makes me wish you’d been my first time.” My heart sparks at her honest words. And I am, again, at a loss for words.

  “Mine sucked,” I admit, but she doesn’t look like she believes me. “Seriously. It was with this girl named Abby. And it was awkward and in the back of her dad’s car. I was fifteen and a lot lankier and nerdier than I am now.” She begins to laugh, and I continue. “I’m pretty sure I stuck it in her ass at one point. Communication was lacking.”

  “Okay, okay—stop.” She waves her hands around. “Mine wasn’t any better. It was in the bathroom of this warehouse. The band sucked ass, and so did he.” I grimace and she chuckles, dismissively waving her hands again. “Not in the literal sense. Weirdo. No, um, it lasted about five seconds before he left me for some skank. Worst sex of my life.”

  “But I’m the best, right?” I tease, totally kidding because who could be that conceited? And she thankfully gets my humor and shakes her head. “What?” I mock gasp and grab her waist, yanking her on top of me. Her arms flail against me as I press kisses against her warm skin. I love her laugh, so I keep doing it despite her protests.

  “Noah!” she squeals in a high-pitched voice, hands flapping with my grip around her waist. I smile and kiss her cheek before leaning against the headboard. She sighs and falls on my chest as if she is sedated.

  A comfortable silence falls around us, and I kiss the top of her hair. Rub her back. Close my eyes in bliss.

  “June 15th, 2009,” I say in a bare whisper.

  “Hmmm?” She cocks her head up with a puzzled expression.

  I smile softly and repeat the date. “My grandpa’s birthday. My parents and I went over to this cute little college he and my grandma visit on holidays. My aunts and uncles didn’t produce many children, so there was really only me as the little kid around grown people.

  “Anyway, he walked over to me when I was just standing beside my parents talking to this couple they knew who were passing through the town, bored out of my mind, when he led me into his study.” I pause and gulp thickly, letting the memory bleed into my mind, creating a crystal-clear image.

  “He showed me this easel that had a blank canvas on it. He told me he loved to paint when he was younger and even showed me a few paintings. Each were incredible and unique in its own way. I remember my heart leaping and wishing I could do the same. When he heard that, his eyes lit up, and he told me it was mine.

  “I was shocked because, usually, people get gifts on their birthday, not give them. But I accepted it and thanked him with each shitty painting I made. I grew obsessed, staying up late, researching the greats and painting until my parents physically couldn’t separate my brush from my hand.”

  I smile softly at the memory of my parents haggling over my new obsession. They’d promised Xboxes and toy cars and even a dirt bike even though I was only ten, but nothing they said or did could mess with my newfound passion. Even now in present time. They can push me into colleges and lock away my funds, but they can’t shake my love for art.

  “Hmmm,” she hums again.

  “Last night was the best night of my life, and that time was the best day of my life. Now I sort of feel balanced, you know. Complete.” I wrap my arms around her to bring her closer, but she pulls away, sitting up. Her face has fallen and is harder than a few seconds ago. I reach for her hand, but she looks away. “Hey. Whoa. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, yeah—I’m fine,” she lies, giving me a fake smile.

  “You don’t have to lie to me,” I tell her, reaching for her hand again. But again, she pulls away. My heart falls a little, and I frown. “Did I say something wrong?” I quickly go over what I just said but come up with empty hands.

  “No, you said nothing wrong. Everything you said was perfect.” She pauses and grumbles something under her breath. “But I have to go.”

  “Go?” I question, taken aback.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry.” She jumps off the bed, and I watch her pull on her underwear.

  “Can I ask why? I’m sorry, but I really feel like I did or said something wrong, and I’m sorry if I did.” I move to stand up, but she pushes me back down and grins.

  “You are in the clear, Noah.” Something in her eyes makes her frown, and I hate the shiver that slips down my spine. “But I have to go.” She turns around and yanks on her t-shirt, skipping putting on a bra. I feel dumb just watching her get dressed, but I don’t want to press myself on her, force her to stop. I would feel even worse than I do now.

  “But we were just talking.” When I find the words, she’s already fluffing her hair out from beneath her leather jacket and pecking my cheek.

  “And we’ll talk later. But right now…” She pauses, and I see the pure hesitance in her eyes. She even looks tortured for a second, but she covers it up with a soft smile and another soft peck. “I have to go.” I watch her jog over to the door and throw it open. She pauses. Over her shoulder, she says, “I’m sorry,” before closing the door behind her.

  And all I can do is blink and think to myself, What the hell just happened?

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “She just left?” asks Mike.

  Then, the ever brilliant Ty asks, “Did you feel like a cheap hooker?”

  I just pause the game, dumbfounded, and rub my eyes. Regret seeps into my bones and makes me want to slap him. Ty, I mean. Mike has more of a leash on his words. But my roommate…the force is not so strong with him.

  I just finished telling them what happened earlier. I briefly told them about Red and my…activities last night before revealing to them how she just up and left the next morning. And she left like she was in a rush to be somewhere else. What really sucks is that she didn’t leave the moment we woke up. We were playful for a bit and just talking. Things were fine between us. Until I started talking about a moment in my life that meant the world, and she just suddenly had to leave.

  I know I shouldn’t have made assumptions, but what did you expect me to do after getting left, naked and confused in a hotel room? I started thinking the worst things, like her running off to Ian and/or Tanner. Both A-class assholes, but also her past fucks she admitted to seeing when we were starting out. Though she says she never slept with them, my overthinking mind jumped to a nasty image of her screwing them because maybe I wasn’t as good as she said I was.

  Maybe I’ll never be the sleazy guy she seems to favor more than the nice guys. The disgusting thought sticks like gum unwilling to detach from the bottom of my shoe. Because I know that she loves me, that she never truly loved them. I heard it from her own lips last night, over and over as I made love to her, claimed her soul that intertwined with mine. Yet my freaking mind went there and attempted to downplay everything.

  But I put a stop to it, because I know her we
ll enough to know that she wouldn’t do that. I begin to think of reasonable excuses. Maybe she forgot to turn off her stove in her apartment. She could have had an appointment she forgot about. Or maybe she agreed to meet up with friends to study for finals that await us after Thanksgiving break. All of them make enough sense, so I latch onto sense of reason and push away the other negative thoughts.

  None sounds reasonable enough to justify the look of terror and sadness in her eyes, but they are enough to appease my over-imaginative mind.

  “No, I did not feel like a cheap hooker,” I gingerly answer Ty.

  He shrugs and resumes the game, landing a cheap hit; we’re playing Mortal Combat, and this loser keeps cheating. “Then maybe you felt like an under-appreciated hooker. You can always haggle prices. But what you cannot negotiate, my friend, is having your service genuinely valued.”

  “Shut up, fool.” Mike throws a throw pillow at Ty’s face, messing him up. For the few seconds he’s bickering with our friend, I land a triple-combo on his ass. We all watch, Mike and me cackling, as my character whoops his character’s ass.

  “Oh, fuck you!” he yells as my character finishes him after the game’s voice demands I do so. As I split his character in half, he mumbles, “Hooker.”

  I smack his head. “I’m not a hooker, idiot.”

  “I just think she had something to get to,” Mike says with a shrug. Reaching over, he snatches Ty’s remote. “Mind getting some chips from the kitchen, loser? Thanks. Means a lot,” he teases, and I can’t stop laughing, especially when Ty flips him off. He is such a grumpy, sore loser.

  “Shouldn’t you be laying off the carbs?” I ask as I’m scrolling over the characters, searching for the right one. “I mean, the game’s in only a few hours.”

  “Don’t matter,” he says, patting my back with a grin. “We’ve got our national treasure right here. Mind staying grounded after you make the winning run to the end zone?”

  “Stop that,” I whine and try to hide my blush. I am not the only one on the team. So what if I helped assist many runs to the end zones, doing some myself? Being on a team means other guys have a hand in our wins, not me alone.

  The bell rings, and Ty begrudgingly answers it.

  He comes back with Rachel in tow, large papers wedged under her arms.

  “Oh, hey, Rach,” I say, distracted with beating up Mike’s character. I dare a glance when he does whatever combo he wants; I’m saving mine till the end so I can finish him in one swift move.

  “Hey, Noah! Mike, Ty.” She smiles at them warmly, plopping into one of the armchairs in front of the dark, leather L-shaped couch.

  “What do you have there?” I nod to the bright pink paper, then the green one under her other arm.

  “Your posters,” she says, absolutely beaming.

  My brows furrow. “Posters?”

  “Okay, I caved. I got the stupid chips.” Ty sighs before shoving a handful of potato chips in his mouth. As he and Mike pass the bag back and forth, I focus on Rachel.

  “Yeah. I thought, since tonight’s game was the last of the season, I’d support you. Not that I haven’t before,” she begins to ramble. “I’ve been there for you for every game. More so instead of my brother, which is kind of messed up, but you get it. He’s an ass most of the time.” Her nose curls as she waves a disgusted hand. “Who cares ’bout him, right?”

  “The point, Rachel?” I chuckle and lean back in the chair, returning my gaze to the TV.

  “Right. They just have your name and jersey number on them. A few dabs of sparkle, but they’re nothing serious.” She rolls them both out, and I more than glance at her. The posters are actually sick and kind of cute.

  “They’re great, Rach! Thank you! You really didn’t have to,” I tell her.

  She opens her mouth, but Mike’s loud screaming cuts her off.

  “Oh, fuck yeah! Take that! Swallow it! Eat. My. Sword!” Mike shouts and dances all around the room as his character chops my head clean off.

  Rachel gags. Ty rolls his eyes. And I just smile. He’s sort of adorable when he wins at video games, which is all the time. I swear it gets him more pumped than winning a game.

  Smirking, Ty says, “Hooker feels defeated once again.”

  “What?” Rachel frowns.

  “Fuck you.” I flip him off.

  ***

  Hours later, it’s game time, and I am more than prepared. I do a few pushups and jumping jacks in the locker room to get myself hyped up like the rest of the team. As I thought, the last game of the season is a big deal. We have a clean winning streak and we cannot afford to break it when it’s our last game. All of us promise to give it our best shots, all we have.

  “Ready for this?” Mike asks me as we’re jogging up to the mouth of the tunnel that opens to the field.

  I can see flares of white light and hear the screams from about fifteen feet away.

  My heart thunders, but I give him a smile and a nod. “Hell yeah I’m ready for this!”

  “There we go, newbie! Let’s go get ’em!” He pumps his fist and we bump around in excitement and adrenaline, blending into the masses.

  We break through and are running through a banner. A horn blasts through the air, then trumpets, and soon enough, the school’s band is playing and marching after we pass. Cheerleaders are running about, shouting and flipping and trying to hype up the crowd even more, when they’re already pretty pumped, shaking the stands with their stomping and cheering.

  I feel a thin thread of anxiety as we go over the plays one last time. I would feel a lot better if Red was here. I don’t think she’s been to any of my games. Well, there was one, but it ended ten minutes into it because a team player on the visiting school broke their leg. Badly. After that, I never saw her at any of my nine other games. I felt stupid looking for her in the stands, but I tried not to think about her and focus on the games.

  But now, now is when I really need her.

  “Did you hear that, Wells?” Coach barks, and I nod frantically. “Well, then why the hell are y’all looking at me? Get out there and win this shit!”

  “Yes, Coach!” we all say before taking our places on the field.

  “Don’t screw up,” Ian seethes as he brushes past me. I begin to storm over to him, but one glance at a glaring Coach tells me it’s not worth it. So I ignore him, clench my teeth, and get in position.

  To calm my raging nerves, I dare a glance into the crowd. There are hundreds of people wearing the school hoodies and shirts and even have paint on their faces. The commitment of the paint makes me smile. And it grows when I spot a pink poster with glitter.

  Rachel.

  She’s so far away, but I swear I see her grin. And I do clearly see her waving at me frantically. She’s even jumps up and down, stumbles, but rights herself and continues to wave at me. I chuckle and wave at her briefly before facing the other players.

  A whistle is blown, and the game kicks off. Each pass is exhausting as I run it and tackle players who stand in my way. Our score starts off crawling close behind them, angering a naturally pissed-off Coach, but as we exchange glances and make gestures, we play tighter and faster. Tackle harder. Run widely, narrowly—any way that gets us to that damn end zone.

  Thirty minutes pass, and I am an exhausted mess, but I keep my head in the game. This is one of the last plays before halftime. Thank God. That is if there aren’t any more time outs.

  Players numbers are called out, and I watch Ty signal behind his back. I nod to him and then to Mike, who winks at me before tossing the ball in the air. Ty tackles a guy coming to me, and I grab the ball as he pins him down. I weave through grubby players on the offense. My heart is pounding like crazy, so hard I can feel it drumming in my ears. I dodge a pair coming for me, do a last second turn, and take off as they collide into one another.

  My legs are burning as I continue to do the same as I pass everyone. Causing them to trip or miscalculate their steps. I hold back my grin. I have to make it to the
end or I’ll look like a fool.

  One…

  Dodge.

  Two…

  Jump!

  Three…

  Run faster.

  And… “Touchdown!” the man in the overhead observatory declares into his mic.

  The entire stands go wild, and I do a little dance. Mike pulls me out of the end before I can embarrass myself, and I laugh and run over to the sideline. We have a little time to cool off and recuperate before the game resumes.

  “That was so awesome, Noah!” Rachel shouts as she peers over the gate. There’s about a three feet high difference between us, but her smile is apparent in the bright lights.

  “Thanks, Rach. You and your signs gave me motivation,” I tease, and she blushes.

  “Oh, shut up.” She waves a hand. “But seriously. The way you made ’em all trip and fall was hilarious. A little sad and mean, but funny nonetheless!”

  “Thank you, I guess.” I laugh, and she joins. We talk about how everyone else is doing and how we’re ahead by a few points. I’m telling her how confident I feel about this game when I feel my skin tighten. My chest feels warmer, and I have cotton mouth.

  Something’s wrong.

  I look around expectantly and freeze when I spot Red. She’s sitting up in the stands, her eyes flitting around aimlessly, almost doe-like, innocent, when they find mine. She looks shocked as if I’m not the reason she’s most likely here, and I chuckle. I wave her over. I feel less inquisitive than I did earlier; now I’m just happy to see her here.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I say to her.

  “Nothing?” She sounds unsure, and I chuckle, which makes her even more confused. “Mind if we talk?” she asks.

  “Not at all.” Then I remember Rachel’s standing there. I am such a piece of shit. I turn to her and catch her wandering eyes, noticing how annoyed she looks. “Hey, can we talk later?”