Speaking of, my eyes find Noah across the yard in the jacuzzi, his arm slung over Elsa, a pretty blonde girl whose family moved from Atlanta to Newton last year. I sigh in relief. Noah doesn’t want me, he wants to piss Devin off. But if he thought he could use my post-break-up sorrow to his favor, he’s as dumb as he looks. A revenge hook-up with my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend’s—brother isn’t really my style. Plus, as pathetic as it sounds, I still want Devin. Blondie can have Mr. All-American. I’ll take the sad boy with the chip on his shoulder.
Walking to the edge of the pool, I slip my phone from my pocket. The flash from the camera illuminates the now dark sky. I study the picture as the splash dampens my skin. Becca and Ethan frozen midair. Their hands are locked, leaping into the calm waters below. Laughter rings out as they break the surface, and I tear my eyes away from the screen just in time to watch Ethan’s arms circle Becca’s shoulders, as he pulls her in for a kiss.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
My heart stutters in my chest. Jealousy winds itself around my throat. I had that—a person of my own, now I’m here with people I hate, on a mission to numb the pain. I turn, wobbling on unsteady legs and make my way to the table. Bottles and cups litter the top. I scan the mess in search of liquid courage, mentally fist bumping myself when I find a half empty bottle of tequila. Pouring a healthy shot into my cup, I toss it back, then on a whim, upload the picture of Becca and Ethan in the pool to my Instagram with the caption, Teenage Wasteland.
My phone pings almost instantly.
Devin: Where are you?
A smile stretches across my face. He’s Insta-stalking me. That counts for something, right? I throw back a second shot and type out my reply.
Me: Why are you stalking my Instagram?
My body buzzes with adrenaline and alcohol. I’d hoped he’d see it. I’d hoped he’d care, but I wasn’t prepared for the eventuality that he would, at least not so quickly.
Devin: You’re at his house, aren’t you? At their grad party?
Me: Was I supposed to sit home crying?
Three gray dots dance across the screen before disappearing. They dance again and I pour a third shot just to have something to do with my hands. Wet footsteps slap behind me, but my eyes are too focused on the screen to look and see who it is. A long tan arm reaches out and grabs the bottle from in front of me. My body tenses as wet heat engulfs my back.
“Come to the jacuzzi, Tru.” Noah’s deep voice rolls through me.
I press my eyelid shut. “I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.”
“Wasn’t askin’.”
“Look.” I turn to face him. “I get that you hate your brother, but I don’t. So, no I don’t want to go sit in a vat of boiling gonorrhea so you can use me as a vessel for vengeance and jealousy.” I give him my back, glancing down at the phone once more. The dots appear and disappear just as quickly. The phone is snatched from my hand and I turn just in time to watch the muscles in Noah’s back flex as he walks away. “Hey, douchebag,” I yell. Anger quickly replacing the hollow feeling in my chest. “Give that back.”
He lifts the bottle of tequila to his lips and keeps walking. My ringer goes off, the one I set specifically for Devin, and my blood turns cold. Noah grins down at the screen. The jacuzzi lights highlight his manic profile as he descends into the water. “Big brother,” he says, lifting the phone to his ear.
“Noah,” I hiss, stepping onto the ledge. “Noah, give that to me!”
The group in the pool laugh, oblivious that their king just set off a bomb in my life.
“She’s right here. We were about to get in the jacuzzi.” He pins me with a gaze as Devin shouts on the other end. “He wants to talk to you.”
I snatch the phone from his hand. “Fuck you, Noah,” I growl. “Don’t believe anything he says. He’s a sociopath.”
“Why the fuck are you even there?” Devin’s low voice rumbles in my ear.
I hear girls laughing in the background, and suddenly, I forget about my broken heart and see red. “Why the fuck do you even care? You dumped me! You embarrassed me in front of the whole school. You threw me away, so you don’t get to tell me where I can and can’t go.”
“Tell ‘em, girl.” Noah laughs.
I flip him off and stumble to the other side of the yard, plopping down into the grass. “Why did you do this?” My anger dissipates and somehow morphs into longing. I’m desperately trying not to be that girl, that same sad girl I was when we moved here, who doesn’t know how to deal with pain head on, but old habits are hard to break, I guess. Devin was the beautiful stranger whose magic healed me. At least that’s how it felt in my head. Now he’s just a stranger, and I can’t reconcile the boy on the other end of the phone with the boy I fell in love with.
“We live in two different worlds, Tru. It’s better this way.”
“I have never cared about that. I changed everything I am to make you happy. I never treated you like you weren’t good enough.”
I hear a girl scream his name. He sighs. “Look, I gotta go. Just stay away from Noah. He’s bad news.”
“That’s what people say about you,” I bite back.
He’s quiet for a few seconds. Seconds that seem to stretch on for an eternity. “It’s in our DNA. I’m sorry, I couldn’t be better for you,” he whispers, then disconnects the call. I growl in frustration then chuck my phone down. My eyes burn with unshed tears.
Laying back, I stare up at the stars. The sky is so clear out here, something I didn’t see much of in Chicago. Then again, I had a mother in Chicago. I was happy there. My scar itches, and I wish like hell I had another drink. As if some sort of drunk Mother Theresa, Becca stumbles over, a towel wrapped around her waist, her jock boyfriend on her heels, clutching a cup of something that smells like fruit flavored rocket fuel. She hands me the drink, then lays next to me, tilting her head towards mine. “Having fun, Tru?”
“A blast,” I mutter, lifting up enough to take a sip. Yup, rocket fuel.
Ethan drops down next to her. “I can’t believe we graduated.”
“I know. We’re actual adults,” Becca says with awe.
“I don’t feel like an adult,” I groan.
Lucy and Paige stumble over, holding up half empty bottles of Mike’s Hard Lemonades. One by one, the remainder of the party joins us in the grass.
“Let’s play Truth or Dare, for old times’ sake,” Lucy suggests, picking at the label wrapped around her drink.
They start to protest, but Noah plops down next to Elsa and says, “I’m in. I’m feeling nostalgic.” A blunt hangs from his pouty lips. Smoke billows from the burning tip. He takes a deep pull, then passes it left. Of course, these hypocrites get high, and yet they call me a stoner groupie.
“Sounds fun.” Ethan scans the crowd, his eyes fall on Paige. “Truth or dare?”
She taps her finger against her lips. “Dare.”
“I dare you to chug the rest of that.” Ethan grins.
A few of the guys snort, and someone cough-yells, “Lame.” Paige raises her bottle in the air and chugs.
My shoulders relax a bit. A tame game of truth or dare is exactly what I need.
Paige takes her turn. “Becca, truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Is it true you’re leaving your boyfriend here alone for three weeks while you and the weirdo go on a road trip?”
“Yup,” Becca says popping the p.
Ethan squeezes her tightly. “I’m gonna miss you, babe.”
“I’m gonna miss you like crazy.” Becca’s bottom lip puckers as she stares at her boyfriend.
“Where are you going?” Noah asks. His eyes bore into my skull, awaiting my reply. I will not let him intimidate me. I stare right back, studying him with the same intensity. The bruise under his eye is a deeper shade of purple than it was before. I don’t get his sudden interest in me, but I wish he’d move on already.
After a few tense moments of silence, Becca
answers for me. “On a cross country road trip. Truly’s mom went on one when she was eighteen. Journaled the whole way. It changed her life.”
My eyes burn at the mention of my mother. The scar on my wrist itches, as vague memories of the night of the crash blink through my mind in sepia. Most days, the pain of her death is just a dull, but ever-present throb, but on days like today—important days—milestone kind of days, I miss her deep.
“Hey,” Becca says grabbing my hand. “She’d be so proud of you.” We both look down at the tiny gold ring around my thumb. It was in the box of things my nana gave me after the accident. Things from her youth. This ring, which I wear every day without fail, her diary, and an old Polaroid camera. They’re pieces of her. Pieces of me.
“Oh my god, Becca, go already before I slit my wrists with all this depressing talk,” Paige groans. I swallow back my rebuttal, the fruity rocket fuel in my cup makes it easy to ignore Paige and her bitchiness.
The game continues and I mostly tune it out. My mind replays the day’s events on a loop. My breakup with Devin. Crying with Becca. Missing my mom. Noah. Despite my best efforts, he seeps into my thoughts like a thick smoke, clouding everything else. His attention is a poisonous and potent cocktail of loathing and revenge, yet all I can seem to think about is the way his hands seared my hips and how his breath danced on my skin.
Fuck. I need to get out of here.
I pat around for my phone but freeze when I hear my name. “Truth or dare.” Noah asks, his eyes are like lasers pointed at my head.
“Umm…truth,” I stammer, but immediately think better of it. “No, dare.” Noah is a jerk and would probably make me relive my breakup in front of his friends for a laugh. Dare is a much better option. I can do whatever embarrassing bullshit he wants then order my Uber.
His eyes darken, changing from honey whiskey to black coffee. “I dare you to let me give you a kiss…”
I glance over at Becca, and she grins, nodding her head encouragingly. “Okay…” I say slowly. It’s just a kiss. It could be worse.
A slow smile stretches across his lips. “Between the legs.”
It just got worse.
The guys wolf-whistle. I look around making sure I heard him correctly. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I never kid about truth or dare.” His tone is serious. His jaw flexes, as he waits for my response.
The dare on the metaphorical table, plus our little run in from before, has made me hyper aware of Noah for the first time in…well…ever. He’s conventionally handsome, with his floppy hair and square jaw, mix in his height and athletic body, and most girls would gladly spread their legs. But I am not most girls, and Noah isn’t the Tedesco that I’m in love with. “No way.” I shake my head. “Truth.”
“You can’t change your mind once the dare has been issued,” one of the guys informs me, as if the truth or dare police will show up and arrest me on the grounds of no takesies backsies.
“Come on, Truly, don’t be a prude,” Ethan nudges me, handing Becca the blunt.
“Yeah, Truly.” Noah is on his knees, pushing forward, sliding his way to me like a serpent in the garden, slow and measured in his movement. Before I have a chance to react, his hands clamp down around my ankles, forcing my legs apart. “Don’t be a prude.” The apple offered.
“I’m not a prude,” I whisper, falling for his trap.
“Then let me kiss it.” My eyes widen as Noah’s hand pushes my skirt up around my thighs. He ducks between my legs and presses a soft kiss on the inside of my thigh. His nose brushes against my pussy as he turns his head to kiss the opposite thigh, then, I nearly jump out of my skin when he kisses my panty covered mound. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I shudder as he retreats. Pleasure mixes with disgust in my belly, both emotions swirling for domination. I tell myself it’s because he looks like a taller, more muscled version of Devin. I tell myself it’s because I was planning on losing my virginity tonight. I tell myself it’s because I’m sad and lonely, when really, deep down in the darkest parts of my soul, I know the truth. I deserve this turmoil. Devin thinks he’s not good enough for me, but really, I’m not good enough for him.
The circle busts out in laughter.
“You’re an asshole,” I grit, scrambling to my feet. Fuck this game. “I quit,” I yell over my shoulder.
“Tru!” Becca calls, but I flip her off and stomp towards the treehouse.
I can wait for my Uber there.
The smell of damp cedar and old books greet me as I climb the six steps up into the treehouse. I flip the switch to the lantern sitting on a table just to the right of the door and pray that it still works.
Soft yellow light seeps into the once dark space. Of course, Noah’s childhood hideaway is nicer than my bedroom. A bookshelf lines the far wall. My fingers ghost over the spines of books by R.L. Stine, J.K. Rowling, and E.B. White. I wonder if Noah’s nine-year-old counterpart was as evil as his teenage version. Patting my pocket for my phone, I groan when I come up empty handed. I must have left it in the grass. Today just isn’t my day. Snagging the well-worn copy of The Sorcerer’s Stone from the shelf, I make my way over to the wrought-iron daybed.
I can’t show my face so soon after my dramatic exit, so I might as well get comfortable.
Five chapters later, I spot movement in my periphery. A shadow looms at the entrance.
Noah stands there, his six-something frame seemingly larger in the cramped treehouse. His fingers float along the bookshelf, a ghost of a smile parked on his lips. His eyes shine with whiskey and mischief. His floppy hair hangs just above his eyes, and he’s still shirtless from his dip in the jacuzzi. Despite my hate for him, I can recognize nice abs when I see them. And holy fuck are Noah’s abs a sight to behold. Long and lean from years of playing basketball, hips narrow at the waist, pointing the way down to the deep V carved into his hipbones.
Noah Tedesco is hot, I’ll give him that, but so was Ted Bundy. I toss the book on the chest in front of the daybed and sigh. “You have ignored me for three years; can we please go back to that?”
He shoots me a lazy smirk as he moves further into the space. He flops on the bed, pushing his hair from his eyes. The movement is in vain because it falls right back down. “I’ve always noticed you, Tru. You were just playing for the wrong team.”
I roll my eyes at the sports reference Mr. All-American tosses out. “What do you want, Noah?”
“Truth or dare turned into people pairing off and finding dark places to go hook up.” He shifts, leaning in closer. His finger slides along my collarbone, dipping into my shirt, unsnapping the top button. The alcohol swirling in my brain makes my reaction time slow. By the time I realize what he’s done, he’s got half the buttons undone, and my lacy bra is on full display.
I finally get my brain function in line with my fine motor skills and push his hand away. “What, no one wanted to blow Jameson’s future star point guard?”
“How do you know where I’m going to school?” He cocks his brow. “Maybe you don’t hate me as much as you want me to think?”
I scoff at the nerve of this asshole. “Everyone knows where you’re going to school. You signed your letter of intent on Channel 13 News.”
“Fair.” He shrugs. His hand continues his exploration, this time, he focuses on the buttons on my skirt. I’m an idiot for wearing an outfit that snaps to a Newton grad party, but to be fair, when I chose it, I thought I’d be spending the night with Devin, and at the time it seemed like the most convenient option. “And to answer your question, Elsa begged me to fuck her.”
I blink, half-drunk, half-stunned by his candor. “So, why aren’t you?”
“She has an uninteresting face and gives lazy head.”
“You’re...you...there are no words... It’s like you’re an entirely new, undiscovered species of fuckboy.”
He lifts a shoulder. “I can’t stop thinking about your pretty little cunt.” He manages to pop open a few more buttons. �
�I kinda liked kissing it. Kinda wanna do it again, only this time without these in the way.” His fingers brush over my underwear.
“Not even if you were the last man on earth.” I push him back and jump to my feet. It’s officially time for me to go. I make it halfway to the door when Noah tags me around the waist and forces me back into the bookcase. Books fall around me as his hands wrap around my neck, and he squeezes. It’s not a playful squeeze either. “I’m trying to be nice to you, Truly, but I’m good with being mean too.” He presses until I can’t swallow. Panic seizes me and I claw at his hands.
“No…a…h,” I grit out. “St…op.”
He drops his forehead on mine as I gasp for air. His grip loosens but he doesn’t let up. His eyes trail down to the gap in my shirt. “Did you wear this pretty little bra for him?”
I don’t know how to respond, so instead, I try to slip past him, but he’s too strong. My back slams into the bookcase again, nearly knocking the wind out of me. My shirt hangs open, and Noah rips the last few buttons away. “What are you doing?”
“I want to see what you were going to show him.” His voice is low—different—dangerous. It’s a side that’s completely at odds with the boy the whole town is in love with. The charming grin, the floppy hair, even the scar on his chin is typically endearing. But this Noah is devoid of any real emotion. I stare into his black eyes and realize for the first time that this isn’t a joke or a cruel game that will end in a lopsided smile and a crude insult.
“Noah, I want to go home,” I tell him a little more forcefully. My heart jackhammers in my chest. Is this what it feels like to have the attention of the most popular boy in school? Movies romanticize this moment. The awkward girl and the asshole. How he molds himself into a better version of himself for her. Noah’s rough touch doesn’t feel like the better version. His black soulless eyes aren’t romantic at all. He isn’t here to bring me hearts and flowers, he’s here to bring chaos and calamity.
“And I want my dick sucked.” He fists a handful of my hair. My mouth falls open, a scream rests on the tip of my tongue, but he grabs my jaw with so much force I fear he’s going to snap the damn thing off. “Strip for me, Truly.”
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