“MISS CLAY?” BERNIE calls out. “Your mother—”
“Can call me if she needs me,” I snap, racing up the stairs of my house.
I jog quickly past the housekeeper, carrying my duffel bag. I dive into my room, slamming and locking the door.
Ugh, that bitch. I hate her. So calm. So smooth. So patient.
I gulp, running my hands through my hair. So beautiful with those tears in her eyes.
Keeping the lights off, I drop the bag to the floor and fall into the door.
Why did I do that? Tears immediately spill down my face as I squeeze my eyes shut. Too far. You went too far. I’ve never laid my hands on her. Ever. I just…
I just…
It feels like there are hands on me instead. On my back and on my neck, pushing me down. Pushing my head down and keeping it down. The earth piles over my head, the dirt in my mouth and my nose, more and more every day, and I can’t see me anymore. I’m small. I don’t know who I am. I’m always mad. Bitter. Afraid.
That’s all I am anymore.
I turn, pressing my forehead into the door and sob. Why did I do that to her? What does she matter anyway?
But even now, I still feel it. She’s bigger than me. She glows, and I don’t, and it’s not like I even want to push her down and make her shrink. It’s like…
It’s like being in her orbit, I can feel the shine, too. I feel bigger with her close.
Stripping off my clothes, I head into my bathroom, unable to turn on the water and climb in fast enough. I’m supposed to help Mrs. Gates at the funeral home today, and I should go, because it’s the only thing that puts my shit into perspective, but I just can’t. I can’t talk to anyone right now.
Wetting my hair and letting the hot water course down over my body, I can’t make my muscles ease, everything still as tight as a rubber band.
But the peace feels good, and my breathing starts to even out.
I sit down in the bathtub, hugging my knees to my body.
I miss my dad. I miss Angsty Teen Tuesdays where my mom and I would alternate every week—her showing me teen movies from her day, and then me showing her some of mine—complete with Melted Milk Dud Popcorn and Mountain Dew.
I miss the pills when I try not to take them. It scares me how I miss them.
I notice an ache in my hand and realize my fingers are curled into a fist. I look down, slowly opening it and find Liv’s underwear in my hand.
I took them. I knew I took them, but I forgot they were there. My stomach flips, the shower wetting the black lace. Does she normally wear pretty things like this every day?
My knees still bent, I hold up the underwear with both hands, my head going places I don’t understand. Does she sleep in them? Does she sleep in only these? How many people have seen her in them? Has Megan Martelle?
A picture forms in my head of Liv wearing these, and I hear my voice again.
I can’t believe the state of you.
My eyes burn, thinking of all the insane shit I wrote all over her today. How I violated her.
She’s not ugly. I hated that I couldn’t find anything wrong with her, and I shouldn’t have touched her. It hurt her.
I touched her skin, and she never said it was okay. My fingertips tingle, still feeling her smooth stomach and arms.
I grind the fabric between my fingers, the tornado inside my body raging again like it did when the shame and heartache of having her naked before me raged in the theater.
She’ll hate me forever now. That’s what I want, right?
I’d gone too far. I had to.
I lie back in the tub, the spray showering down on me. Leaning my head on my hand, I fist the underwear again and again, my gaze falling into a void in my head where I only see her.
In here with me.
Quiet with me.
Close with me.
Her head between my thighs.
I moan, my head falling back as I rub my pussy and roll my clit under my fingers through her panties.
“Fuck,” I groan, the friction of her lacy fabric a little scratchy, but it feels so good.
Yes.
But then I open my eyes and stop, my body aching with need as horror sets in at what I’m doing.
A need I’ve never felt with Callum.
No. Tears well. Fuck no.
I squeeze the panties in my hand and fly to my feet, slamming my palm into the shower wall and see Alli on that slab and what the world did to her for wanting something people didn’t think she should.
I’ll fuck him. I’ll fuck him a dozen different ways, slow and fast, hard and gentle. And if that doesn’t prove anything, I’ll find someone else to give it to me.
Someone who’s good. Someone who knows what to do with me.
Someone not her.
• • •
By the next day, I’ve convinced myself, as always, that she deserved it. Olivia acted like a bitch. Saying that shit about how I could use a brother now that I was down one? What a fucking pig.
When her mom went and hung herself two months after her father’s death, have I ever brought that up? Did I ever use it against her? What I do to her doesn’t even come close to how nasty that comment was yesterday.
And then she had the fucking gall to cry.
Grabbing the parking ticket that I got a year ago out of the glove box, I climb out of my car, carrying my purse, and slide the ticket under the windshield wiper before slamming the door.
I jump up onto the sidewalk, ignoring the sign that says no parking after four. My phone rings, and I pull it out of my purse, seeing Callum’s name on the screen.
“Where are you?” he asks without a hello.
“Picking up my debutante monstrosity.”
“Aw, you’ll be beautiful.”
I laugh under my breath. “Maybe underneath.”
“Is that a taunt?”
“A dare,” I retort, stopping at the door to Lavinia’s. “A box of Cuban cigars that you can’t get it off of me on ball night.”
He falls silent, and I wait, my hand on the door. Was that too bold?
Then, he finally asks, “Real Cubans?”
I smile. Despite my feelings for Callum being complicated, he knows how to play. “They’re only illegal to poor people,” I tell him.
I open the door, stepping inside.
“And if you win, what do you want?” he asks.
“A box of Cuban cigars.”
A snort escapes him.
I walk into the shop, the crystal chandeliers glowing overhead, and I immediately cast a glance around, not seeing her. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed.
“Can’t wait to see you in the dress,” he says.
“Well, you’re gonna have to, unfortunately.” I sigh, seeing no one at the counter. “See you at school tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
I hang up, slipping my phone into my bag, and I’m about to call out for Lavinia, but she appears from the back room, her lipstick looking eggplant against her purple dress.
“Morning,” I chirp.
“Clay!” She holds up her hand as if to stop me. “I want you to try on your dress before you take it, okay? Just to make sure.”
Do I have to? I was hoping to only have the wear that damn thing one more time. On ball night.
“It’s in the dressing room,” she says. “Do you have time?”
“I…” But I can’t think fast enough. “Sure.”
I follow her to the dressing room, dropping my purse and closing the curtain after she leaves.
I don’t have my underthings—the right bra or anything—so this shit won’t fit like it’s supposed to.
Which could work in my favor if Lavinia doesn’t realize it and the dress isn’t ready in time. I could borrow my mom’s spaghetti strap, silver Balenciaga instead. In a crunch, she won’t make me cry by saying no.
I strip down, unzip the dress bag, but then Lavinia flips something over the drapes, a strapless bra with a quick, “Here you go, honey!”
I hold in my groan. “Thank you!”
Snatching the undergarment, I wrap it around my front, fitting my breasts into the cups, and reach behind me with both hands to try to fasten the hooks.
But there’s no way I’m going to get them connected by just feeling. “Help,” I call out.
I struggle with the clasps, sucking in my stomach and turning around so I can look behind me in the mirror to see what I’m doing.
But then the curtain suddenly opens, and I see Liv standing there in the mirror.
Where’s Lavinia?
I stop breathing for a split-second as she stares at me and I stare at her, and I don’t know what she’s going to do. I look for a Sharpie on her but don’t see one.
Her black jeans hug her body like a second skin and her black T-shirt is cut off mid-way, her stomach tight and smooth as it peeks out. The white baseball cap she has on backward is almost blue from how many times it’s been bleached, and I gaze at that dark tunnel between the hair that spills around her and her neck, an urge to just want to bury myself in…
I swallow, noticing the faint remnants of the Sharpie on her stomach.
“Where’s Lavinia?” I ask, steeling my voice.
She cocks her head a little and her eyes instantly drop to my panties.
The black lace ones.
Hers.
She meets my eyes again, and then she steps in, closes the curtain, and yanks me around, fastening the corset.
“A little pent up frustration over the separate shower stalls after freshman year?” I say. “Seizing your last chance to see me naked?”
“Nothing to see,” she mumbles. “You still look the same as you did when we were fourteen.”
I snarl a little. I do not. Bitch.
I adjust my breasts inside the cups, my skin tingling at the touch of her fingers.
I clear my throat. “So, what happens if my father and Callum’s father push your family out of Sanoa Bay?”
“What do you care?”
She jerks the corset tighter, and I dig my toes into the carpet to keep myself from falling.
“I care.” I put my hands on my hips as she works. “You’re my fun.”
I like you around.
She doesn’t look up, and I can tell she won’t. She’s not giving an inch.
“You’ll split up,” I tell her, already knowing, but my chest hurts hearing myself say the words. “Macon will stay close to St. Carmen. He’s rooted here with the businesses, right?”
She presses her lips together.
“Dallas, and maybe Trace, will join the military.” I throw guesses out there, because what else do men who have zero direction or education do but go somewhere with job training and a guaranteed paycheck and housing? “The rest will scatter.”
Army Jaeger, I think, has a kid, and Iron has too many priors. The military won’t take him.
“And you?” I press. “What will happen to you?”
“My plans won’t change,” she finally mumbles, finishing my hooks. “I’ll still get the hell out of this shithole.”
“And far away from me,” I say.
She stands up straight, still behind me, and meets my eyes in the mirror. “You think you’re a factor in any of my decisions? Dartmouth was always the plan. You don’t matter.”
Dartmouth?
New England? Has she ever been out of Florida?
I stare at her longer than I should, the wheels in my head racing, and I know she can tell I’m taken off guard.
I swallow the lump in my throat and drop my eyes, twisting the corset to make sure it’s sitting straight.
You don’t matter. That’s what she said. She’s just going to leave. She’s already got plans. Like she’s been waiting for the day to run and… How can…
I try to swallow again, but my mouth is dry.
Snapping out my hands, I unzip the dress bag and peel it away, a dress I don’t recognize coming into view.
Huh?
Distracted from her news, I flip the bag back down to check the name, see that it’s mine, and inspect the dress again.
This isn’t my dress. It’s even more hideous, if that’s possible.
But then…I notice the silk. The same shade of chiffon that made up my dress, and I study it some more, taking in the lace and flowers, all mine but repositioned.
A halter-top neckline of bushy white flowers has been added, and sequins stick to the bodice like pinstriping, ending at the waist and giving way to the feathers adorning the skirt in a spiral formation.
A laugh bubbles up in my chest, but I hold it in. It’s awful, and I absolutely adore it. She did this.
I contain my smile and look over my shoulder, seeing her watch me with a calm but amused expression. She’s waiting for me to react.
She did this on purpose. She risked getting fired—hell, risked the wrath of my mother and grandmother—to get me back for the Sharpie incident.
She wants a rise out of me, and she’s not going to get it. I couldn’t be more pleased.
“Put it on me,” I tell her, almost lightheaded from the high.
She stares at me, pausing only a moment, before rolling with it. The next thirty seconds could be her last in this store, and she doesn’t even seem to care. I’m more pleased I was significant enough for her to trouble herself. She must’ve spent all night on it.
I pull on the petticoat, and she takes the dress off the hanger, spreads the bodice open, and lowers it to my knees.
I step in, letting her pull it up my body and button the back while I drape the flowers around my neck and attach it to the dress.
But before I can fan out the dress and take a good look at myself, seeing what my mother will see and fantasizing about her reaction, I hear a screech behind us.
“What is this?”
We both stop and turn, Lavinia stands with her hand holding the curtain open.
“What is this?!” she shrieks again and then her eyes shoot to Liv. “Did you…? Olivia…?”
Laughter shakes my stomach, and I turn away to hide my smile. Priceless.
But a thought hits me at the same time. If she gets fired, I won’t have access to her here. If she’s willing to throw away a job to piss me off, then I’m not really winning anything.
Lavinia’s eyes shoot up and down my body, taking in all her hard work fucked up, and then fixes a glare on Liv. “May I speak to you please?”
And I know it’s over for her.
Liv starts to leave the dressing room, but I brush past her and step out into the main room, up onto the riser. “I love it,” I announce. “Ring it up.”
“I will not,” Lavinia fires back. “This…this…” She scans me up and down again, like she’s about to vomit. Then she shoots another glare to Liv, pointing to the back room where she can go fire her in private. “Now!”
“Ring it up,” I growl. “It’s exactly what I wanted.” I look to Liv, rubbing it in her face. “The credit card is in my back pocket. Grab it.” And then to Lavinia again. “Olivia followed my orders. Don’t blame her. I want it paid in full.”
Lavinia’s mouth falls open like she’s going to argue, but I cut her off.
“I mean it,” I say again.
And then I turn away, cutting off any further argument as I check myself out in the floor-length mirrors, observing all angles.
Liv digs my mom’s credit card out of the back pocket of my jeans in the dressing room and shoots me a half-lidded look before disappearing into the lobby. I hear Lavinia’s hushed hissing and stand there, trying to hear what she’s saying to Jaeger, but I can’t.
The bitch needs to shut up. I told her it was fine. I mean, it’s not. Liv’s going to pay for this, and I don’t need help punishing her. She’s my responsibility.
The hem of the dress is too short, the petticoat sticks out the bottom, and the flowers around my neck itch. I hike up the skirt and reach behind me, unzipping the petticoat and letting it fall to the floor, stepping out of it. There’s no way my mother will make me wear this, and I’m half-tempted to start cutting it into pieces so it can’t be salvaged for my future daughter. I could even blame Liv for it. No one would think otherwise.
But…I won’t go that far yet. She’s finally playing, and I don’t want to actually get her in trouble before I can enjoy this.
“If this is the dress,” someone says, and Callum appears behind me, swinging me back into his arms, and I gasp. “I will absolutely be peeling it off you as soon as possible.”
I look up at him, feeling Olivia right outside the room.
He dips down, his breath on my lips as he hovers, not kissing me.
“Callum—”
“Shhh…” he tells me. “I snuck in.”
“I thought you had a meeting of the Skull and Bones.”
He grins, brushing off my teasing.
He’s trying to get a head start in some fraternity before he goes to college next year. Schmoozing alumni and legacies. Milking connections that his father already made for him. I like that he’s ambitious, even if whatever we have going won’t last beyond graduation. He’ll go to one school in the fall. I’ll go to another.
And we both know neither one of us is waiting for the other while we’re away.
“You can’t see the dress.” I stand back up and spin out of his arms.
But he pulls me back in, and I suck in a breath. He presses his body to mine, gazing into my eyes without blinking. “Undress for me,” he whispers.
I still.
“Let me watch the dress come off and your clothes put back on,” he murmurs, his nose brushing mine. “I won’t touch you.”
Part of me wants to. I like how slowly he moves, easing me into it.
He walks us backward into the dressing room and closes the curtain. “Every time I see you, I want third base already, Clay. Show me.”
He moves over my lips, holding back just enough to make my skin tingle where his warmth breath falls.
I want him. I look up into his eyes, picturing myself tearing his shirt off his body and what his skin will feel like against mine, but the tingles fade, and I inch up on my tiptoes, searching for his mouth. Chasing it. Fighting to get it back.
“Unbutton me,” I pant.
I want him.
I want him to touch me and kiss me and take me home and sneak into my bed and…
He loses it. Grabbing my waist, he brings his mouth down on mine, backing me into the wall and hikes up my skirt. He nestles himself between my legs, holding my knee at his waist.
His other hand works the buttons at my back.
“Five minutes, Clay,” he says, jerking the buttons free until I feel the bodice loosen and slide down my torso. “How much damage can I do in five minutes?”
He covers my lips again and grinds into me, the twenty-four-hour scruff on his chin poking my face and lips. I scale my hands up his chest, his muscles tight and thick under his shirt, and I dive into his mouth deeper, waiting for the pulse between my thighs to need what he’s doing. To like it. I’m tired of not fucking around like everyone else. I want my own guy.
I want someone touching me.
I want to search him out for more and not be able to control myself when we’re together.
He forces my head back and kisses my neck, sucking and biting as he grips my ass and rolls his hips against my panties over and over again.
And I feel it. I freeze for a moment, the pulse on my clit starting to pump as the lace of Liv’s panties rubs so good against my nub.
Heat spreads as I grow wet, and slowly, I close my eyes and let my arms fall away from his body. They hang at my side, images flashing like lightning behind my lids. So quick. So hot.
Skin. Wet skin. And her face is on fire, glowing and golden and covered with my mouth.
I moan, slipping my hand down her panties that I wear, rubbing my smooth skin and dipping my fingers inside and wanting her to watch me. To make her want me and make her happy.
“Goddamn, Clay,” Callum growls, and he’s stopped kissing me. I think he’s watching.
But after a moment, lips land on me again, and I kiss so slow and gentle. With my tongue taunting and savoring her. Not him.
“Come home with me,” he whispers in my ear. “Neither one of us can stop this.”
My orgasm crests, and tears fill my eyes, grateful and gutted. I can come with him. Now I know how.
But God… What the hell is going on in my head?
I hear something and open my eyes, seeing Liv through the crack in the curtain. It lays open six inches, and she stands there, a stack of shoe boxes next to her on the table as she stares at us.
Her gaze falls, and I know she sees her underwear. She sees Callum Ames with his hands all over them, and I can’t help the pleasure I feel in my stomach as I watch her watch me rub up on him a little more.
I linger on her chest, the faintest points of her nipples poking through her black T-shirt, the tan skin of her stomach peeking out the bottom. She’s not wearing a bra, and my fingers hum, another moan escaping as I feel myself slide my hands up her shirt.
“Clay,” he says again against my neck.
But I don’t blink as I look at her. “The ball,” I tell him. “After the ball. All night.”
He can have me all night. I’ll like it. I know I’ll like it.
Liv’s eyes narrow, the muscle in her jaw flexing, and I know she didn’t hear me, she’s probably just mad her plan to piss me off with the dress didn’t work.
I matter, you brat. You don’t. You can’t just run from me. You’ll leave here, but you’ll do it knowing you never survived me. Not really.
We still have months, Jaeger. The fun is just beginning.
