He’d fucked up. He shouldn’t have kissed her. Peaches had even told him not to. But he’d done it regardless. He just didn’t have the fight left in him anymore.
He knew, now that he had experienced the feel of Peaches on his lips, he had to have it again. And he knew that was an impossibility, just as she had told him. Nevertheless, Carter couldn’t help but suspect her determined promise that it wouldn’t or couldn’t happen again was a carefully constructed front that hid her own desires for him. She’d kissed him back, for fuck’s sake. She wanted it, too. Didn’t she?
He rubbed his brow at the realization that the situation just wasn’t on their side.
Carter wasn’t stupid; he understood she had a lot more to lose than he did and that, should their kiss be found out, she could be in a whole heap of shit. But he didn’t have to like it. His temper and selfish side started to escalate.
He thought back to what he’d said to her. What-the-fuck-ever. Like I give a shit if it happens again.
He was a lying son of a bitch.
The fact was her words had hurt. He’d been hurt before, by many people in his life, but Peaches seemed to know how to cut him to the quick. He wasn’t so much of a dick that he couldn’t admit it. She’d hurt him and he was pissed.
He glanced at the clock, a bitch of a headache starting in his temples. It was just before five, and he needed something to help him chill out and cut loose. He needed to stop thinking about Miss Lane, with her soft lips and peach-flavored tongue.
He pulled out his cell and found his contacts list. The line rang three times.
“Yo, Carter! How was your date—I mean, session?”
“Eat a dick, Max,” Carter snarled, striding toward his bedroom.
“Whoa, such hostility! It didn’t go well, I take it?”
Carter pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped down onto the corner of his bed. “No. It didn’t,” he snapped. “Look, what have you got planned for tonight?”
“Not much. Why, you thinkin’ of something?”
Carter ran a hand down his face. “I need to get shitfaced, and quick. Where can we go?”
Max laughed. “I know just the place, my man. Come to the body shop in an hour.”
“I’ll be there in thirty.”
*
“Keep moving!” the stranger hissed from under his hood. “We have to get away from them. They’ll kill you! Move!”
“I can’t! My dad!”
The stranger didn’t stop to listen. Gunfire filled the air. Kat screamed. She began running but was wrestled to the ground. He was heavy on top of her back and smelled of cigarettes.
The sidewalk was so cold.
“Stay here,” he breathed into her hair as she wriggled beneath him. “You can’t go back. He told you to run, for Christ’s sake.”
Kat shot up from her bed, gasping and hoarse from the scream that died slowly in her throat. Her face was wet, as were her clothes, from the sweat pouring from her.
She leaned against the headboard, taking in a huge lungful of air when she remembered she was in her bed. It had been a while since she’d had such a dream, yet the effects of it were just the same. With a groggy head, she lifted herself from her bed and made her way to the bathroom, knowing a bath would relax the muscles in her neck and back that were still tense.
After her long soak, and a good hour of tears, she pulled on a pair of sweats and a hoodie and put on the DVD of School of Rock for some light Jack Black entertainment. A knock at the door had her glancing at the clock, wondering who would turn up at her door past eight on a Saturday night.
Her heart thumped hard when she peered through the peephole. She unlocked the dead bolt and pulled the door open, leaning on it with her hip. She stayed silent for a moment, not knowing what to say.
“Can I come in?” Beth asked in a quiet but firm voice.
“Sure,” Kat answered, standing back to allow her to enter.
Beth stepped in and stood awkwardly while Kat shut the door behind her.
“Can I get you a drink?” Kat tucked her air-dried hair behind her ears. Beth nodded.
Kat shuffled to the kitchen. Once Kat had poured Beth’s drink and handed it to her, she walked, without a word, back toward the sofa and sat. Beth followed and sat at the far end of the couch, sipping her drink.
Kat placed the TV on pause as Jack Black started singing about straight As, then she turned to her friend. “How are you?”
Beth gave a small smile. “I’m okay.” She placed her glass on a coaster on the coffee table. “How are you?”
Kat crossed her arms, feeling weirdly defensive. “I’m fine. Tired.”
Beth clasped her hands in her lap. “Austin said you weren’t well. That’s why I came: to see if I could do anything for you.”
Kat sighed, thinking about the text that she’d sent Austin, the lie she’d written to get out of going for drinks with him, unable to see him after the kiss with Carter. “I don’t need anything.” She saw an uncomfortable shift in her friend. “So where’ve you been? You haven’t replied to any of my texts.”