I cross my arms.
“You were scared of the monkey bars,” he says. I try to protest, because I wasn’t scared—the boys always tried to peek up my dress. But Carson goes on. “I know in fifth grade you convinced all the girls in Mrs. Silva’s class that you could read their minds.”
“Fourth,” I correct, like it matters.
“And in junior high,” he says, leaning closer, “you made the cheerleading squad, but then you quit because you were too cool for those girls.”
I wasn’t too cool. I was too poor and cheerleading camp is expensive. But it’s still kind of flattering that he knows so much. Isn’t it? Maybe not, if I know the same stuff about him. He was the playground tetherball champ every single year. He got caught kissing a girl in the junior high locker room. His Blazer’s a replacement for the truck he wrecked at the lake last summer. Or in the lake, I should say.
Proximity doesn’t prove anything. “You know just as much about half the girls here,” I say, shaking my head. “Guys too, for that matter.”
“But it’s a start,” he says. “Can’t I get to know more?” His whole smile is charming. My brain and body are buzzing, reminding me how this all started in the first place—Carson is undeniably hot. That square jaw, shadowed with a little scruff, and those arms, Jesus. He knows he was a jerk. He apologized. He’s been apologizing for weeks, it seems.
“Maybe,” I say. “Why didn’t you just say this earlier?”
He actually blushes. “I was nervous, and we were always in class…”
Relief spikes like adrenaline through my body. He didn’t mean to … force me. Carson is a nice guy with a crush, and I’ve been torturing myself for no reason. He’s not after me for an easy lay. He just likes me. “So are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” I draw it out so he can play it off like a joke.
He smirks. “Maybe.”
Oh. I’m positive my heart is visibly pounding out of my chest.
“Why don’t we give it a test run?” Carson asks, leaning closer. “See how it goes.”
He starts off slow, kissing me in ways I like—if I don’t compare them to Andrew’s. His hands move from the wall to me, and I suck in a breath, looking around. It sounds like someone is on the stairs.
“There’s no one up here,” he mumbles in my ear. “No one can see us.”
Carson kisses me harder, pushing the length of his body hard against me. I do and don’t want it to feel good. It does and doesn’t. A whimper escapes my lips and makes him braver.
“You’re pretty, Raychel,” he whispers. I don’t understand how I can be flattered and horrified at the same time. My skin crawls but it’s hot and wants to be smoothed over. “I like girls like you.”
“Like me?” I croak.
“The ones who aren’t scared to get dirty.”
My stomach flip-flops. “Wait.”
“What?” He pulls back. “You want to go to a bedroom?”
I shake my head. I changed my sluggish mind.
I don’t want this.
“You want to stay out here,” he whispers, and doesn’t wait for my reply. “You are dirty.”
Suddenly there’s no want except to escape. Every inch of me screams no. He shoves both hands into my shirt. His crotch pushes eagerly at mine. My tailbone digs into the wall, trying to create space that doesn’t exist. I can’t pull back and his mouth is on mine and there’s no room for me to say anything until he pulls away. “No,” I manage, trying to pull my shirt back down, but he swallows my protests with more kissing. His fly unbuttons in rapid succession, like a machine gun. I keep trying but I can’t make myself heard around his tongue in my mouth.
Then he pulls away, putting his hand on top of my head, and pushes. Hard. It shoves me off-balance, forces me to the floor.
To my knees.
MATT
Mindy keeps doing her best, but voices are coming up the stairs, getting louder. “Hang on.” I sit up and Mindy falls to the side, her hand still attached to an area I should be more excited about, considering that no one but me has been there in quite a while.
“What’s going on?” she asks breathlessly.
“I dunno.” We sit in silence, listening.
RAYCHEL
The carpet burns the scrapes on my knees. I can’t believe that’s what I’m thinking about while Carson is getting his dick out. When I try to get up, my ankle gives and he uses the other hand to keep me down. Everything is moving in slow motion but too fast. The whiskey-schnapps-beer-bourbon mix swells toward my throat.
“Raych?” a voice asks. “What the hell?”
I blink and look up, swiping at the tears running down my cheeks. It’s Andrew. Keri and a bunch of other people hover behind him.
MATT
One of the voices is definitely Andrew’s.
At least I know he’s not in some room screwing Raychel.
That thought makes me scramble to the edge of the bed. The rest of my drink goes down fast, with a grimace and a shudder, but it doesn’t take away the waxy taste of Mindy’s red lipstick or the weight of her hand on my thigh or the fact that I shouldn’t be in here with her.
The roiling in my gut isn’t just hot beer. It’s want, but not for Mindy. It’s anger and greed and, most of all, guilt.
I push her hand away.
RAYCHEL
People are gathering, racing up the stairs to see the show.
Something loud comes out of Andrew’s mouth—not really words, just sounds. His arm moves and for a split second I think he’s reaching for me. I put my hand out to meet him.
Instead he grabs Carson’s shoulder and throws him toward a bedroom door. Carson’s unbuttoned pants leave everything hanging out, a hilariously useless weapon for this fight. I’m hysterical, laughing and crying at the same time, loud over the gasping crowd.
MATT
“Is that your brother out there?” Mindy asks.
“Sounds like it.” And someone is laughing wildly.
She kneels behind me on the bed and runs her hand up my chest, but I squirm away. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, I—”
A crash, and the door bows in for a moment, the sound of wood splintering almost lost under the yelling. Mindy shrieks and grabs her bra, stuffing it into her pocket as she scrambles for her shirt. I jump up, glance back just long enough to make sure she’s covered, and jerk what’s left of the door open.
A body falls at my feet with a grunt. Andrew lunges after him, pulling him back out into the hall, and I realize the guy’s cock is hanging out. It’s Carson Tipton. He lands a blow on Andrew’s chin. Andrew’s fist draws back.
“Wait!” I yell, rushing to get between them.
Andrew throws the punch anyway. It hits me in the nose.
RAYCHEL
Blood explodes like a gruesome firecracker. Matt holds his face, eyes wide with shock.
I lean forward and puke on Trenton Alexander Montgomery the Third’s white carpet. I don’t think peach will be any easier to get out than red.
MATT