the hay while trying to keep his eyes on me.
His declaration of “like” has placed him in the category of beyond intoxicated and there’s no way I can lug him home. “You mean you like knowing that our conversations will end with me telling you to go fuck yourself?”
He laughs. “Exactly.”
“You’re weird.”
“So are you.”
He has me there.
“Is there anything you don’t pierce?” Ryan stares at my belly button. My shirt must have ridden up, exposing the red jewel dangling on my stomach. On my sixteenth birthday, Isaiah paid for my belly button piercing. At seventeen he paid for the tattoo. Both times he came up with the “consent.” Isaiah is crafty like that.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Ryan’s eyes flash to mine and I see he
understands the innuendo. I laugh when his cheeks turn red. “What are you, Ryan?”
“Did you just ask what I am?”
I nod. “Why would a jock be holed up with me in a barn, drinking beer, when he could be screwing half the female population at school?
You aren’t fitting the profile.”
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His eyes search my face and he ignores
my question. “What’s your tattoo mean?”
“It’s a reminder.” It means freedom.
Something I’ll never have. My destiny was built for me before I sucked in my first breath.
“You’re doing it again,” says Ryan. And he touches me again. This time on my stomach, yet his eyes hold mine. His finger lightly explores the edges of the jeweled ring. Tickling me. Entrancing me. Taking my haze higher.
And that’s exactly where I want to go—higher.
“What would you say, Ryan, if I said I didn’t want to be alone?”
His fingers slip to my side and his warm
palm clings to the curve of my waist, inching me and my body slowly toward heaven. “I’d say I don’t want to be alone either.”
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Ryan
THE LANTERN LIGHT FLICKERS, creating
shadows over Beth’s face. There’s no
mistaking the suggestion in her smoky-blue eyes or the invitation of her fingertips as they trace the curve of my biceps. With her black hair sprawled out against the golden hay, she reminds me of a modern-day version of Snow White—lips as red as roses, skin as white as snow.
Would a kiss bring Beth to life? Tonight she’s shown me brief flashes of the girl hidden behind the facade. Maybe I can draw her out more. Maybe if I kiss her…no, not kiss. I’m no prince and this isn’t a fairy tale.
Attempting to find sanity, I rub my head.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yes.” No. The thoughts in my brain crest and dip like waves in the ocean. Each thought HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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harder to hold on to than the one before.
“It’s all right.” Beth’s voice becomes smooth, as if she’s casting a spell. “You’re thinking too much. Just relax.”
“We should talk,” I say in a rush before the thought drifts away, but my hand draws another lazy circle on her stomach. Her muscles come alive under my touch, a shudder of pleasure, and I crave to please her.
“No, we shouldn’t,” she answers. “Talking is overrated.”
And I nod in agreement, but the thought floats back to the surface: we should talk. I’ve fought it all night; hell, I’ve fought it since I met her, but I like it when Beth talks because she becomes real—she becomes more. I like more. I like her.
What I really like is how her smooth skin glows in the lantern light, how soft it feels against my fingers. Beth licks her lips again and my head tilts in expectation. Her mouth glistens now and I memorize the perfect shape while imagining her lips brushing against mine.
The hay rustles beneath Beth as she lifts her head. My senses are flooded with the scent of HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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roses.
“Kiss me,” she says.
Just one kiss and her black spell, the one that she’s woven, the one that’s constantly weighing her down, will be broken.
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Beth
MY TANK RIDES UP further when Ryan strokes the bare flesh of my stomach. He angles closer to me and I’m immediately overwhelmed by the size of his body. My blood tingles with excitement. “You’re soft,” he whispers.
I knot my fingers in his hair, guiding his head to mine. “You talk too much.”
“I do,” he agrees and his lips finally meet mine.
It’s an innocent kiss at first. Soft lips meeting; a gentle pressure that creates a slow burn. The type of kiss you give to someone that means something. This isn’t the type of kiss to be wasted on me. But still, I prolong it by taking his lower lip into mine and I touch his smooth face.
For this one second, I’ll feel. I’ll let myself pretend that Ryan cares for me. That I’m the HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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girl worthy of this type of kiss, and right as I sense the emotion becoming stronger, gaining traction, I break away.