Every heartbeat struck an anvil behind my eyes. “I have a headache.”
She traced a feathery finger around my jaw. “I’m not surprised.” She lay down, propping her chin on a hand.
Her bathrobe opened a little. She curled her finger around a strand of my hair. “I could give you something to make you feel better.”
She leaned forward, lips parted.
I turned my head toward her. She tasted like strawberries.
She pulled my shirt up, snaking a hand underneath. The kiss got deeper.
She climbed on top of me.
I pushed the robe off her shoulders and we kissed some more. I used the robe to trap her elbows and rolled over on top of her.
The room was dark except for the flickering light from the music channel. I worked a hand under the robe and pulled it open.
She was perfect.
She lifted my shirt. We stopped kissing long enough for me to pull it over my head. Her hands roamed my back and found the ridge of tissue there, but she didn’t stop and didn’t say anything.
I think I loved her.
She slid a hand into my jeans.
I kissed her mouth, her neck, moved lower.
“Stop.”
I pushed up, head on fire.
Cyndra scooted over and pulled a condom packet out of her bedside drawer.
We had sex. Because she was prepared. Because she acted like it was no big deal. Because I was stupid enough to think that it wouldn’t change anything.
When we were done, she rested her head on my shoulder, her hand across my stomach. It was nice, holding her, smelling her hair, not thinking about anything, just watching some singer scream a song about love as buildings exploded around him.
Her hand rubbed up and down my stomach. “Monique is going to be so jealous.”
The bet.
It was all I could do to hold still. All I could do to keep from shoving her off me and onto the floor. Because of course, it was never about her actually liking me. The constant teasing, trying to get under my skin, none of it for me.
But for her. Using me, taking what she wanted, not to feel good for a moment, but just to win the fucking bet.
“Mmm.” She nuzzled my ear. “I could lie here all night, but we’ve got to go to the party.”
She got off the bed and walked to her closet. Her perfect skin gleamed in the light from the TV. She slipped a short, shimmery dress over her head and pulled on high heels. She didn’t put on underwear.
“Wear this,” she said, digging a light blue shirt and dark jeans out of the department store bag. She went into the bathroom.
I pulled on the jeans and walked over to the full-length mirror. If Michael looked into these pale eyes, would they give anything away? A dark bruise spread across my jaw. Another shadowed my side.
I pulled on the shirt before sitting in the recliner in front of the TV. Put on the black work-style boots, so new they creaked.
After a while, Cyndra came back from the bathroom. Her hair was fluffier, and dramatic makeup made her look like a model.
I stood as she picked up a tiny purse and jingled her keys. “Before I forget.” She held out a folded bill. “For your”—her voice trailed off until I met her eyes—“time.”
My face burned. I took the fifty, crumpling it into my pocket. Made myself meet her eyes.
“Just kidding.” Cyndra’s voice was singsongy, like we’re so close now she can say anything and it won’t be misunderstood. Like that was just a joke: Don’t get mad, I was just playing.
We left her house and drove to the party. It didn’t take long, which was good, because each time the Mercedes came to a stop, I nearly jumped out. Because when her slender legs worked the pedals and her hand gripped the stick shift, it reminded me of how competently she’d controlled me.
We parked and walked to the front of another mansion. This one was white, with gaslights flickering along a path and on either side of the door. It looked like an old house, but you could tell it wasn’t. Music blasted inside. I slowed my steps, falling behind Cyndra as I texted the address to Clay.
At the door, Cyndra ran a hand into her hair. “Why are you dragging?” she asked, waving me forward.
“I just wanted to get a picture of the view.” I leered at her as I slid the cell back in my pocket.
Cyndra giggled and brushed the front of my new shirt like it had something on it.
“All right, then. Showtime.”
Her bright eyes made me dread the moment when she told the others that she’d won the bet.
I told myself I didn’t care.
It wasn’t like I loved her or anything pointless like that.
My head thumped in time with the music.
I followed her inside, past throngs of people and outside toward the back of the house, where more kids stood around a crystalline pool. There were kids I didn’t recognize and some I did.
Beast, Dwight, and T-Man were by a keg, clutching plastic cups, standing with their legs as far apart as possible without looking completely ridiculous. Michael leaned against a low wall, his arm around Monique. His black eye was darker, but less swollen, and did nothing to mar his looks. His eyes widened momentarily at my jaw, but he didn’t mention it.
“Cyn. Ice. You’ve arrived,” he said instead.
“Hey, Ice.” Monique waved her eyelashes in my direction but didn’t budge from Michael’s side. She licked her lips, and for a moment I actually looked forward to when Cyndra told her the bet had been won.
“Jason.” Michael lifted his arm off Monique and held out his hand. I shook it and he dislodged Cyndra long enough to give me a one-armed hug.
“We need to talk.” I spoke through gritted teeth. Remembering my father in the doorway.
“How’d you get that shiner?” Monique asked me. “I thought you were invincible.”
Crossing my arms, I leaned against the wall. Felt Cyndra’s heat next to me.
“Shut up, Mona.” Michael stepped away from the girls. “Come on, Ice. Let’s get you set up.”
I followed him back into the house and over to a bar. Some girls had climbed on top and were dancing. One waved her shirt as she tossed her head around.