The man in the doorway pushes past her, craning his neck to get a good look at me. When our gazes lock, he laughs again.
“Aw, you’ve got yourself a little jock buddy! Check out the muscles on this one!” His greasy hair flops onto his forehead as he swings his head toward Sabrina. “You like the muscles, huh? Yeah, you definitely like ’em. Heard you squealing like a bitch in heat all the way from the living room.”
“Get out,” Sabrina growls.
“You sound hot when you come—”
Fuck this. Anger boils in my gut as I charge forward. I don’t give a shit that this man is Sabrina’s stepfather. The sick fuck is not allowed to speak to her like that.
“That’s enough,” I say in a low voice. “She asked you to leave.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Who the fuck are you to give me orders? This is my house, boy.”
“And this is her room,” I retort.
“Tucker,” she starts, but Ray interrupts her.
“Rina, tell your jock to shut his trap. Otherwise I’ll shut it for him.”
Yeah right. I could knock this fucker out with one punch. He’s so drunk he’s swaying on his feet.
“Ray.” Sabrina’s voice is deceptively quiet. “I’d like you to leave, please.”
Silence hangs between the three of us. Finally, Ray rolls his eyes in a dramatic fashion and edges back to the door. “Jeez, you really are a stuck-up bitch, aren’t ya? I was just playing around.”
“Play somewhere else,” I say coldly.
“Shut up, jock boy.” But he doesn’t stick around.
We hear his unsteady footsteps in the hallway. A moment later, a door shuts.
Slowly, I turn back to Sabrina. My stomach twists with concern. And there’s a pang of fear too, because I hate the idea that the asshole sleeps only two doors down from her.
Before I can speak, she tucks her hair behind both ears and says, “I’m really tired. You should probably go now.”
My gaze darts to the hallway.
“He won’t bother me,” she whispers, as if reading my mind. “I lock my door at night.”
I’m not sure a locked door will keep that fuckhead out. Ray isn’t as tall or bulky as I am, but he’s not puny, either. Doughy, yes, but not puny…
“I’ll be fine,” she insists, and the look on her face tells me she’s as eager for me to go as I am to stay.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” I finally ask.
She nods.
“Okay. I…guess I’ll go then.” I slide my phone out of my pocket and pull up my Uber app. Then I take a needlessly long time with it, hoping that she’ll change her mind.
She doesn’t. She waits silently while I track down a car, then walks me to the kitchen, holds the door open for me, and murmurs a soft, “Good night.”
She doesn’t kiss me goodbye.
10
Sabrina
I’m not sure if u’ve blocked me again. On the off chance u haven’t, ur fucking spectacular in bed. Ur hot body almost eclipses that sexy brain of urs. Almost. I want to see u again. In bed, out of it. Whatever.
I like to pretend that I’m impervious to ordinary things like feelings. That my focus is so precise and laser-like, nothing can push me off the path I set for myself back in sixth grade. But as I stare across the quad at some girl rubbing up against Tucker, thoughts of Harvard and perfect grades and sticking it to all the haters are pushed aside by a rush of green jealousy.
I want to march over there, whip out my phone, and shove a screenshot of his sext in front of her face. See, he’s mine, I’d snarl and then I’d drag him away. Or maybe I’d throw him down and ride him in front of the entire Briar campus.
“B, you’re looking like you don’t know if you want to kill Amber Pivalis or fuck Tucker. Either one is illegal on school grounds.” Hope laughs in my ear.
Amber? Her name is going in my burn book.
“I don’t have time for this,” I mutter, shifting my books higher in my arms. I’m not sure if I’m talking to myself or Hope at this point. Both of us, maybe.
“How are we defining ‘this’? Your sudden obsession with Tucker or your maddening refusal to actually allow yourself to enjoy life?”
“If your eyebrow goes up any higher on your forehead, it will officially be part of your hairline,” is my non-answer.
“Being around you causes these weird tics.” Hope waggles both eyebrows.
“Do you make these faces in bed with D’Andre? Is it some strange fetish of his?”
“You know what D’Andre’s fetish is and it’s not my eyebrows.”
“Oh God. Right. I’m sorry I brought it up.” D’Andre’s ass preference has not gone unnoticed by any of Hope’s friends, but it’s not something I like to dwell on, not even as a distraction from Amber.
Miss Thang is currently walking her fingers up Tucker’s arm while he listens intently to every stupid thing that comes out of her stupid mouth. I mean, she could be telling him about Nietzsche’s theories of nihilism, but it’d still be stupid because Tucker’s enraptured.