He breaks into a laugh. “It took you long enough.”
“Don’t you ever call me that again!” And then I dart my eyes to the side, seeing a couple of girls from school cast us curious glances. I lower my voice. “And I’m not jealous. I just don’t appreciate you filling me in on all your sleazy bullshit.”
He takes a step closer, putting us chest to chest with both hands on the counter at my sides, caging me in. “And I don’t like him touching you.” He scowls down at me.
He must be referring to the parking lot today when he saw Trey kiss my forehead.
I reach over and grab a popcorn box, tipping it over and shaking it to show that it’s empty. “Here you go.” I shove it at his chest. “All the fucks I give.”
And I push through his arm, taking my drink with me.
“Hey. Everything okay?” someone asks.
I look up, seeing Ten as I approach the register. I pause, seeing his gaze flash between Masen and me as he holds his silver water bottle, which I know is filled with rum and Coke.
Ignoring his question, I glance back at Masen. He tosses the popcorn box to the counter and walks toward me, holding my eyes as he glares down. I feel the heat coming off his body, but I stand tall, daring him to even try to pick another fight. He’s a jerk whose only kick in life is to make mine miserable.
He doesn’t say anything, though, and keeps walking out the doors.
After he’s gone, Ten exhales a long sigh and turns back to me. “In case you’re still trying to figure it out,” he says, “he wants you bad.”
I turn away, unable to shake the desire to go pick another fight. He wants me bad? Well, he certainly doesn’t look like he’s suffering with need. Not at all.
I pay for my drink and candy and head out of the stand with Ten. He heads for a group of guys at a convertible, while I walk through the cars toward Lyla’s BMW up front and try not to look for Masen. The sky is black now, but the screen is shedding lots of light, and I hear the crickets buzzing in the grass out in the distance. I spot Trey standing by his car, flirting with some girl.
Awesome.
I keep walking, but I stop when I pass a big, black truck. Masen’s.
I glance around, finding him over by his new friends, including J.D., talking and laughing. People loiter about, caught up in their conversations, and no one is looking at me. I stare at the truck, suddenly feeling inspired.
Holding back my smile, I set my drink and snack on the ground, next to the tire, and open the back door on the driver’s side, quickly climbing in. I shut the door and immediately notice how dark it is inside. I hadn’t noticed that the afternoon at the car wash. The windows must be heavily tinted.
The leather interior shines black, just like the paint on the outside, and it smells heady and rich, intoxicating, like him. I lick my lips, leaning up and opening his console between the front seats, looking for something to write with.
I sift through change, a few receipts, and some tools. I see a pen and pull it out, clicking the top to load it and scribble on my hand.
Black.
Everything in here is fucking black. Anything I write won’t show up. I dig back inside the console and my fingers curl around something long with a grip on it. I pull it out, seeing that it’s some kind of pocket knife.
My heart starts beating faster. He’s a prick, but I’m not quite sure I want to get that destructive. Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” starts playing in my head.
I pinch the groove on the dull side and unsheathe the blade, jumping when it snaps out. The curve is scary and intense, and I hold it up, studying it and wondering if I really want to leave him what’s sure to be a very expensive message.
And then I think about Katelyn straddling him on this very seat, riding him, and I want to do a lot more than just cut up his truck.
But the door suddenly opens, and I jump, seeing Masen step up and come right for me, slamming his door shut.
I gasp, tossing the knife up to the front and twist around, yanking the handle of the other door.
It opens, but he grabs it and pulls it closed again, pushing down the lock.
The truck is dark again.
His arms come around me, and I gasp as he hauls me back against him, holding me as I struggle.
“Get off me!” I yell, trying to get free.
“Were you jealous?” he growls in my ear, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Were you mad you could be so easily replaced? Is that why you’re in here, trying to do some shit to my car?”
I jerk, trying to twist out of his hold.
“Get over it,” he says. “A pussy is a pussy, after all, and if I don’t get it from you, I can get someone else with a lot less hassle.”
Dickhead. Of course I’m no one to him. I’m not even surprised.
I struggle loose, but he pulls me tight again, taunting, “If it doesn’t bother you, then you shouldn’t want to run away.”
I breathe hard, a cool sweat breaking out on my neck. I stop struggling and calm my breathing, forcing my tone even. “Let me go now.”
His arms relax around me, and I slide away from him, reaching for the handle.
But he reaches out and grips the door, holding it closed. “I didn’t think about you at all when I was in bed with her last night,” he tells me. “She was hot, she turned me on, she liked my hands on her, and I liked how she felt…” His breath falls across my hair, his words cruel and unforgiving. “She wasn’t average or boring or stuck-up. She excited me.”
My bottom lip shakes and tears fill my eyes. But I tense every muscle in my body, trying not to let him see. Stuck-up. Average.
Boring.
“Tell me you’re jealous,” he demands.
“If it doesn’t bother me, why would I be jealous?”
He leans closer, and I can feel his body at my back and his lips next to my ear. “Tell me you’re trying not to think about how much I loved fucking her. Tell me something true, and I’ll let you leave.”
Something true? Tell him what? What does he want to hear? That this hurts? That I loved kissing him the last time we were in here and every time after that? That I don’t want anyone touching him? Screw him. I’m not saying any of that shit.
“You can’t, can you?” His voice is quiet and almost sad. “You can’t talk to me.”
And then I watch through blurry eyes as he leans up and exhales on the window in front of me, fogging it up to draw a word with his finger.
FEAR.
I shake my head.
Alone, Empty, Fraud, Shame, Fear… What is he doing? What does that mean? A tear spills over, and I growl out a breath, wiping the word off the window.
“You’re a prick. Just stay away from me.”
I go to open the door, but he grabs my hand.
“I didn’t sleep with her.”
I freeze, turning my head just an inch. What?
“I lied,” he tells me. “I asked her out for food yesterday to make you jealous, and today, when she insinuated shit that didn’t happen, I let her. But I didn’t touch her.”
The heat of his breath hits my neck, and I can tell his head is bent to my hair.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want anyone else. I only think about you.” He pauses, his voice shaky. “I think about you all the time, Ryen.”
Me.
“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I had to push you. I wanted to know.”
I turn my head, glaring at him through my tears. “You didn’t touch her?”
He shakes his head.
I swing my hand to hit him, but he grabs it and pulls me into his lap, taking my face in his hands. “I had every right to,” he bites out, “especially since you’re still letting Fuckface drool all over you while making me hard as a rock for a damn week.”
I bite my bottom lip, trying not to cry. I never cry in front of them.
“You turn me on.” He cups my face, brushing my hair away from my eyes and a tear off my cheek. “God, you turn me on. You’re driving me crazy. I want you to need my hands on you. Do you?”
I hold his eyes, seeing the pleading in his. Seeing, for the first time, the need. He’s desperate to hear me say it.