by K. A. Tucker
“Yeah, right. You’ll just give me the cold shoulder and screw my friends when you find out? Is that how it’s going to be from now on?” He shakes his head, and I see his annoyance growing in his features again. “Am I supposed to not see anyone until you get over yourself?”
“Get over myself?” My jaw drops as I glare up at him. “You’ve been all over me and yet, here we are! The second an opportunity to get laid shows up, you jump on it.”
“She asked me! And it’s just dinner,” he bellows.
“Come on, Shane. It’s never just dinner, not with you.” I shake my head. “Don’t worry, I get it. I won’t put out for you, so you’ve moved on.” A mirthless laugh escapes me. “It’s literally high school all over again, except this time I wasn’t dumb enough to buy any of the bullshit that came out of your mouth. Thank God.”
“You think that’s why I ended things back then? Because I wanted to get laid?” His voice is laced with grim humor. “That’s not why.”
“Oh, no, wait. You’re right,” I sneer. “It was because you cared too much about me and you were worried things would get too serious, too fast. I think that’s the crap line you fed me, right? And not twenty-four hours later, I see you with your tongue so far down Penelope’s throat, I’m surprised she didn’t choke on it. You two had already hooked up before we ended things, didn’t you?”
He has the decency to avert his gaze.
“Exactly. Don’t you dare stand here and tell me I’m wrong about you. Believe me, I wanted to be.” I turn to leave.
“You weren’t easy, Scarlet.”
I snort. Unbelievable. “Yeah, I think we’ve established that you’re a giant asshole. You’re only reinforcing it.”
“That’s not what I mean.” His shoes scrape against the pavement as he comes around to face me. His features are somehow more handsome, cast in the dim streetlight, marred by frustration. He looks around us, as if contemplating whether he wants to get into this here and now. “I remember the day I got up the nerve to ask out the Scarlet Reed, even though people warned me you had this huge chip on your shoulder. You ended up being one of the coolest girls I’d ever met. You were smart, and funny, and sexy. I liked you a lot, right from the start.” He pauses a moment, as if waiting for his words to sink in.
“But you weren’t like any of the other girls I’d dated. I’m not saying it was bad. It was just … I don’t know how to explain it. You seemed so complicated. You didn’t trust anyone. You didn’t trust me half the time. You remember the night I asked you out? You wanted to know where Steve was hiding. You thought it was some big joke and they were all watching. When I picked you up that night, you were surprised that I showed up. Like I’d actually be that kind of dick. Like I couldn’t possibly be interested in you. Seriously?” He chuckles. “You were on every guy’s radar in that school.”
“Yeah, because they were hoping I was like my mother,” I counter wryly.
He shakes his head. “Nah.”
“I heard them say it. More than once.” Laughter in the hallway, conversations the second I left the room, locker-room talk that Jeremy relayed to me in a sheepish voice.
“Yeah, fine. Maybe some of them,” he acknowledges. “But not everyone. Not me. I would have held out however long you needed.”
“That’s easy to say now, isn’t it? You didn’t last past the summer. Guess you missed blow jobs too much after all, huh?”
His face tightens with anger as he glares at me. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember how that night could have gone down.”
I study my shoes as my cheeks flush. He’s talking about the night we broke up, in his car, when I—teary-eyed and desperate—offered myself up on a silver platter. I managed to get his belt buckle undone before he stopped me. If it had been up to me, I would have lost my virginity to him that night.
“Don’t paint me the asshole, Scarlet,” he says, his voice softer. “I just told you what I thought you’d want to hear—”
“That you were dumping me because you liked me too much! Really?” I glare at him, challenging him.
“I was seventeen! I was an idiot! I didn’t understand things back then. I think I’m starting to. I mean, you didn’t exactly have the best role model for relationships.” He nods toward Route Sixty-Six, to where my mother sits inside, unashamed and unapologetic of how her actions continue to affect me, even now. “You want me to say that what I did was shitty? Sure, yeah, it was. I was a dumbass with pro football on the brain. I wanted easy and straightforward, and you were not those things.”
“But why her?” Of all the girls he could have left me for, why did he have to choose the one who had tormented me for years?
“I knew what I was getting with Penelope.” His lips twist with grim amusement. “Ironic, how that turned out.”
Tension hangs between us as I struggle with how I feel about his admission. I don’t know if I feel better or worse. Or if it even matters.
He shakes his head. “Look at me, standing out here in the rain, still trying to convince you that I’m not trying to use you,” he mutters more to himself. “You’re still so fucking complicated, Scarlet.”
“I guess you better get back inside to what’s easy.” My voice cracks as I turn to walk home.
He grabs my hand, stopping me in my tracks. “Who says that’s what I want?” He tugs me gently toward him. Truthfully, it doesn’t take much—nothing at all—to lead me into his broad chest. “I’m not a seventeen-year-old kid anymore.” He leans in to press his forehead against mine. “And ever since you came back, I can’t get you out of my head.”
I close my eyes and revel in the feel of his nose grazing mine, of his lips so close to mine, of his shallow, ragged breathing. Right now, the only thing I’m sure of is that I am so far from being over Shane Beckett, and I don’t know why I keep fighting it.
He shifts and suddenly we’re kissing again after all these years, in the middle of this desolate side street with the rain falling over us. It’s everything and nothing like I remember. His lips are soft but more practiced, wasting no time in parting mine to grant his tongue access to my mouth, while his hands brazenly pull me into him, allowing me to feel every hard curve of his body. He tastes like the beer he was nursing for the past hour. I vaguely wonder what my Jim Beam-soaked tongue must taste like, but I quickly push that worry aside as our kiss grows deeper and more fervent, as our bodies press against each other, as the feel of him growing hard between us makes my body ache with need. His cool palm clasps the back of my neck as his fingers weave through my damp hair, vaguely reminding me that it’s raining and I’m soaking, but I don’t care.
Two beams of light hit us then, followed by a playfully short toot of a horn. We break apart in time to see the approaching car ease past us to park, the driver flashing a knowing grin.
I step away from Shane and edge toward the sidewalk, my pulse racing as grim reality sets in again.
He follows me, frowning. “What’s wrong now?”
“The same thing that was wrong five minutes ago. You’re making plans with other women.”
He sighs. “It’s just dinner. And I didn’t say yes.” He throws his hands in the air. “You were going to fuck my best friend tonight.”
“I wouldn’t have,” I lie. What an idiotic move that was. Why did I go after Dean like that?
“So, what, you were trying to make me jealous? You were playing a stupid head game? Is that it?” The look of reproach he gives me only ignites my anger, but he’s not finished scolding me. “And you told me you just wanted to be friends. So, what am I supposed to do? Sit at home alone and jerk off while I wait for you to decide you’re ready to forgive me for something I did when we were kids?”
“Yes!” I shriek, my anger and hurt exploding in a volcanic mess.
His jaw hangs open a moment. He was not expecting that answer. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
“I don’t care.” Hot tears begin to trickle down my cheeks as I grasp what I w
ant—what I need from Shane—and I’m so happy that the rain is there to hide them. “It’s the only way I’ll trust you again.” Does he not see it? “I was in love with you and you broke my heart!”
“That summer was thirteen fucking years ago,” he yells, his voice incredulous and a touch desperate. “Why can’t you let it go?”
Justine and Becca come stumbling out the door of Route Sixty-Six, arm in arm.
“I love that movie,” Justine hollers, and begins belting out the lyrics to Disney’s Frozen theme song, off-key, with hiccups interspersed.
“Hey! There you are! I ordered us a Lyft.” Becca waves her phone in the air as if to prove it and then points toward the main street. “He’s meeting us out front. He’s almost here.”
I’m not about to argue that I’d rather walk, because Justine appears to be in no shape, and suddenly I don’t think I am either.
“Turns out we can’t be friends, after all,” I say to Shane, who is standing on the sidewalk, his hands on his hips, staring intently at me.
“Yeah, I guess not,” he mutters.
I move toward the pickup spot. “Stay away from me.”
“No problem there.” A moment later, he adds in a holler, “Let me know when you grow up!”
By the time I climb into the back seat of the Honda Accord, I’m struggling to muffle my sobs, my anger and disappointment reaching a boiling point.
“Well … that was a fun night.” Justine lets out a hiccup.
Sixteen
I stir to the sound of Justine setting a glass of water on my bedside table.
“Figured you’d want that.”
“Thank you,” I croak, the dull ache at my temples an instant reminder of last night’s whiskey marathon. “What time is it?”
“Just after nine.”
I groan. “Go back to sleep.”
“I wish. You know how I am.”
“Yeah. Insane.” In all the years I lived with Justine, I’ve never known her to sleep in, no matter how late she goes to bed or how much she’s had to drink.
She flops into bed beside me, making the mattress shake and my body jolt. “What the hell happened last night?”
“Jim Beam happened.” Jim Beam and my attractive next-door neighbor, who continues to dominate my thoughts and spur my most volatile emotions.
“I remember you going to the restroom and not coming back forever, and then Shane chasing you out the door. Things are blurry after that. Did we go through the McDonald’s drive-thru?” I hear the grimace in her voice.
“Of course, we did because you insisted. It was disgusting.” I roll onto my back with another groan, the taste of the Big Mac melding with stale booze and morning breath on my tongue.
“You were upset,” she notes.
I was more than “upset.” I was a hysterical drunk who broke down the second the Lyft driver pulled away. He kept giving me the side-eye and warning Becca—in the front seat—that she’d be dinged for the detailing bill if either of us puked. Who knew Becca, the Blue Lagoon maven, would end up the soberest of all of us?
“What happened with Shane?”
I pick through my foggy memories. “Let’s see … I started doing shots and making plans to screw Dean to get over the fact that Shane is dating Susie.”
Justine’s mouth gapes. “He is not!”
“Okay, fine, a date. That will turn into marriage, with my shitty-ass luck.”
“But he seemed totally into you!”
“Right? I guess, while he’s waiting for me, he’s going to go elsewhere to get laid.”
“Ugh. Dick.” Her pretty face pinches. “I hope you called him out.”
“Oh, yeah, I’d say so.” Was that scene as bad in real life as it’s playing out in my head? “We started arguing in the middle of the bar. And then my mom showed up—”
“What?” Justine’s eyes widen. “Your mom was there and I missed her? Dammit!” For all the stories Justine has heard about the infamous Dottie Reed, she’s never met her.
I wince as her loud curse thumps in my head. “Come back next weekend. She’ll be there on Friday. And every Friday. Apparently, she’s a regular there now too. Of course, she is.” There’s nowhere in town I’m safe anymore.
“So, she came and then what happened?”
“Oh! Well, then I found out Dean slept with her five years ago and, no, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t going to tell me before we hooked up. And the worst part is, I don’t want big, dumb Dean.” What was I thinking, moving in on him like … well, like my mother. I shudder at the comparison. “Then I embarrassed myself in front of about fifty people and ran out.”
“And Shane followed you.”
“Yeah, so we could fight some more and make out in the street.”
Justine gasps again. “No way.” She’s loving this drama.
“Uh-huh.” I close my eyes and try to imagine his lips on mine again. I so wish I had been sober for that part of it.
“He’s going to break off this date with the other woman, right?”
“I doubt it. I told him I expected him to stay celibate until I trusted him again.”
“Yikes.”
“And then I told him to stay the hell away from me. They’ll probably get married and have babies. I’ll get to teach their children too,” I add dryly. “Oh, and he said that he broke up with me because I was too complicated.”
“Too complicated?” she echoes.
“Yeah. I guess I had trust issues and a chip on my shoulder. I was too complicated, and he wanted easy, so that’s why he dumped me and went with Penelope.” My archenemy.
“Hmm.” Silence hangs as Justine stares up at my bedroom ceiling.
I know that look on her face. “What is it?” I ask warily.
She sighs. “You know I love you, right? You are my person. Like, if I were gay, you’d be my wife right now. Or even bi. I’d take you over Bill in a second.”
I smirk. “I’d have to be gay too, though.”
“It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t be able to resist my charms.”
“You’re an idiot.” And yet her words warm my chest.
“So are you, if you can’t admit to me out loud right now that you still have feelings for this guy.”
“It doesn’t matter if I—”
“Admit it!” she barks, making me grimace at the throb in my temple.
I swallow the rising stir of emotions as I say, “I still have feelings for Shane Beckett.”
“Serious, deep feelings,” she coaxes.
I sigh with exasperation. “I still have serious, deep feelings for Shane Beckett.” Unexpectedly, a weight lifts from my chest. “How stupid am I? He’s just going to hurt me again.”
She snorts. “I’m the moron who took Bill back six years after he left me to marry Debra.” But then she says more seriously, “You still have feelings for the guy. You’re not stupid at all, Scarlet.” She hesitates. “But he’s not wrong about the complicated part. I mean, for the first six months we lived together, I wasn’t sure if you liked me.”
I laugh. “What are you talking about? We hung out all the time.”
“Yeah, because I forced myself on you. I assumed you were only tolerating me and you’d eventually murder me in my sleep.”
“Seriously? You’re my best friend.” I chuckle. “Oh my God, that’s so dumb.”
“What? You can be intimidating. Ask Bill. He’ll tell you. He thought you hated him too.”
“I didn’t exactly love him at first,” I confess. The drama of their relationship has always been off the charts.
“And you’re really hard to read. I mean, not for me anymore, because I know you better than I know anyone else in the world, but you don’t let people get close to you. You don’t trust anyone. And I don’t blame you,” she rushes to add. “If half the things you’ve said about Dottie are true—”
“They’re all true.”
“There you go. Look at what you grew up with. You have a selfish mom, you don’
t know your father—”
“Don’t Doctor Phil me, please.” The truth is, I’m not blind. I’m acutely aware of all the ways my upbringing and family dynamics are lacking.
“Fine. But in the twelve years I’ve known you, you’ve never had a boyfriend who you cared about keeping.”
“That’s because they were all losers.” Guys who didn’t know what they wanted in life, or only wanted one thing. I saw through all of them from day one and didn’t give them an ounce more of myself than I was willing to gamble with.
“Sometimes I think you pick them for that reason.” She rolls onto her side to face me. “You know, I used to want to be you.”
I smile through my throbbing head. “What are you talking about?”
“If things with a guy didn’t work out, you were all Ariana Grande ‘Thank you, next.’ No tears, no sadness. It’s something to behold. It’s actually not normal.”
“You made up for the tears.” People who don’t know Justine assume her brash attitude equates to thick skin, but in fact, she’s one of the most emotional people I’ve ever met, a surprise to me.
“Yeah, I was a blubbering mess over Bill and then every guy who wasn’t Bill,” she concedes. “But you? You were unflappable.”
“That’s not a word.”
“Oh, it is a fucking word, trust me. Bill used it during our last Scrabble game and I said it wasn’t a word, and I lost. Do you know what that asshole made me do? He—”
“Don’t!” I hold out a hand in warning. The last time Justine spelled out the kinds of things she and Bill do during their weird strip Scrabble-porn games, I couldn’t look at Bill without a vivid—and unappealing—visual for a week after.
“Anyway, you’ve never been serious about anyone since I’ve known you.” Her brow furrows. “But I’m starting to think it’s because you got serious about Shane, and it sounds like he really hurt you.”
“I was in love with him,” I confess. “Or as much as any seventeen-year-old girl can be in love with a boy after a summer—”