Love Notes: A Rivals Series Prequel

by Lawson, Piper

  My eyelids drift closed and when his exhale skims over my throat, my legs threaten to give out. My fingers tingle, empty and itching to reach for him.

  A trembling breath falls from my lips.

  Then he’s gone.

  I blink my eyes open and stare at the stack of ironed clothes in his arms. The ones that had been sitting on the dryer behind me.

  Stupid.

  Somehow, I find my voice. “I would never jeopardize your future.”

  “Not on purpose,” he counters.

  “Not at all.”

  Tyler runs a hand over his neck before reaching for the door. “The other outfit looks more like you.”

  After he leaves, his cedar scent lingers, making me want to wrap my arms around myself and replay every second of his closeness.

  I’ve been craving time alone with him all week. But now that I’ve had it, I don’t feel resolved. I feel confused and edgy and awakened. Ready for something I don’t understand, something only he knows.

  I reach for the Febreze and spray until every trace of him is gone.

  5

  Annie

  “Sexy nurse. Sexy kitten. Ooh! Sexy dinosaur?” I point at a girl wearing a green bustier and miniskirt getting out of a car ahead of us at Carly’s Saturday night. “I win.”

  “Not so fast. Sexy Mr. Rogers.”

  I burst out laughing as Pen points at a girl in a sweater vest, her hair spray-painted gray. “Ew. And also amazing.”

  Carly’s house isn’t in the country like my dad’s, but it’s huge. Two storeys, stone, with columns flanking the double doors. Ten bedrooms, which she likes to tell everyone. I’m guessing the indoor great room will be packed full of drunk teenagers instead of its usual charity events.

  As we make our way up the stairs to the open front doors, I’m grateful we decided to take Pen’s mom up on her offer to drop us off.

  It’s my second time in this house. The first time was Carly’s party last year, where Pen and I got eliminated from the contest in the first hour, forced to wear our stamped hands for the rest of the night.

  Now, from the way bodies flood the hallways, dressed as all kinds of real and imagined creatures, with music pounding from unseen speakers, it appears the entire junior and senior classes are here.

  “I’m glad you decided to go through with our plan,” my friend calls, poking at the cupcake on my head.

  I nod to the giant heart hanging from her wrist that tops off her Polly Pocket ensemble. “Solidarity.”

  “Do you know what Tyler’s dressed as?”

  I shake my head. “He left early.”

  The other night in the laundry room left me craving more than tortured looks.

  No more. I’m here to have fun. Not to worry about what Tyler’s up to. The rest of the student body can obsess over him.

  We follow the flow of traffic and end up in the kitchen, where Carly is dressed as a mermaid, surrounded by her minions.

  Each is equipped with an uncapped bingo dabber. Each surveys the scene hungrily, as if looking for their next victim.

  “That’s subtle,” Pen mutters, leaning in.

  “Huh?”

  “The auditions for the musical? The Little Mermaid? She’s going all out.”

  If there was any doubt of whether trying out would cause a shitstorm, it’s clear now. It’d mean going head-to-head with her and her minions.

  There’s no sign of Carly’s parents—or any adults actually—as we fill our cups.

  “What is it?” I shout at the guy doing the honors. He shrugs, and I sniff the liquid. My stomach turns.

  Sweet, but there’s a heavy, unmistakeable scent of liquor underneath.

  A few people comment on our costumes, laughing, and I grab Pen’s hand and tug her toward the living room. A stage is set up in the middle, and my gaze drags to it.

  Girls surround the band, dancing as close as they can get. It’s not for the music. It’s for the four boys on stage.

  Brandon’s a skeleton. The drummer’s dressed some kind of hula girl, a coconut bra on his chest. The bassist has a unicorn horn.

  And Tyler…

  I shake my head.

  “What is he?” Pen asks, taking in his all-black outfit, the dull silver crown on his head at an angle.

  “A prince,” I answer immediately.

  Knowing Tyler, he was going for irony. But it’s not irony that has me memorizing the way his flowy button-down shirt skims the muscled lines of his body, the way his hair falls over his face under the crooked crown.

  It might be a costume, but Tyler looks hot, like he’s on a mission to steal hearts and panties from the entire female population of Oakwood.

  “Are you going to say hello?”

  As if feeling our attention—which would be impossible given the number of people staring at him right now—Tyler looks up. His mouth curves in a slow smile that makes my mouth, my throat, fucking every part of me dry up.

  Okay, maybe not every part.

  But I’m not here for him.

  “Come on, let’s dance,” I tell Pen, tugging her toward the center of the dance floor.

  The band is good, and I truly appreciate Brandon Bowers for the first time.

  Eventually a hand taps my shoulder, and I turn to find Tyler behind me, Brandon at his shoulder.

  “I came to meet your friend,” Tyler says, bending close to my ear so I can hear him.

  And smell him. That damned sunshine-and-cedar scent makes my head swim, but it’s his words that send surprised pleasure through me.

  “Pen, this is Tyler.”

  Brandon looks at Pen. “What are you?”

  “Polly Pocket. It was a toy—”

  “I know what a Polly Pocket is.”

  Her eyes widen in surprise. They talk, and I watch, hiding my smile behind my drink.

  “So, I’m guessing your set at the frat party went well,” I comment.

  Somehow Tyler’s right at my elbow, close enough his long-sleeved shirt brushes my bare arm. “Was there any doubt?”

  His gaze runs down my body, back up. “You look good enough to eat.”

  His quiet confidence, cockiness, combined with the half-dimmed chandeliers glinting dully on his crown affect me.

  “Don’t practice your pickup lines with me,” I manage. “They won’t work.”

  “So you’re not coming home with me tonight.”

  “Funny.” I ignore the tingling taking me over and his question as I run a hand down his shirtsleeve, trying not to linger on the muscles underneath. “This is very ‘Pirates of the Caribbean couture.’”

  “It’s from the Salvation Army.”

  I shake my head in wonder. “I bet no one in this room even knows where that is.”

  “They do now. I took B and some of the guys.”

  That makes me happy for no good reason. “You should’ve gotten a sword too.”

  “Why? You promised to protect me.”

  “The only thing you need help with is beating the girls away.”

  He leans in, his lips grazing my ear and making me shiver. “Please use your cupcake.”

  My blood’s humming—from the drink or the banter or his closeness.

  Or all three.

  I’m still laughing when he heads back toward the stage, casting a long look over his shoulder at me that leaves me biting my lip. Brandon follows him.

  “You and Brandon Bowers?” I ask Pen.

  She shakes her head. “No way. But he’s smarter than I thought. What about Tyler? You forgot to tell me you have killer chemistry.”

  I fight the shiver of anticipation. “We’ve always been friends. But at my dad and Haley’s wedding, we had…” I remember our dance, the way his lips brushed the corner of my mouth. “… a moment. Then he ghosted me for eight months.”

  “So, make him suffer a little. The point is you deserve good things. Don’t make some kind of problem that doesn’t exist just because the hottest guy at Oakwood looks at you like you’re a stea
k and he’s a carnivore.”

  I shiver, feeling foolish and not really caring as I motion Pen toward the stage. “Wanna get closer?”

  She grins. “Yeah.”

  We dance next to the stage, and I catch Tyler’s eye a few times. When I step away, he jerks his chin at me and mouths, Where are you going?

  Drink. I point at him, lifting my brows.

  Water, he mouths back, then grins when I nod.

  So I know I’m not at this party with him, but as I trail through the crowd toward the kitchen, I can’t help thinking that would be awesome.

  Not because he’s the new prince of Oakwood.

  Because he’s Tyler, and he’s so different from all of them.

  He’s talented and beautiful and he sees me. We have jokes together and can be real with one another. He moves seamlessly between the nothing he left behind and the bright future he has. He can charm rich kids one moment and go thrift store shopping the next.

  He also seems less strung out than the other night, as if our weird conversation in the laundry room was only a dream.

  Maybe we’re friends again.

  Maybe we could be more than that.

  On my way back from the kitchen, I’m stopped by the last person I wanted to see.

  “Nice costume, Annie. What, are we double-fisting?” Carly takes the cup from my hand and sniffs it.

  “It’s for Tyler. You can get your own, it’s your house. You should know where to find it.”

  “You know, when I first met you, I hoped you’d be cool. Jax Jamieson’s kid and all. You were a huge disappointment. I decided it was because you came from nothing. That before your rich daddy claimed you, you were living on food stamps.”

  It’s not true, but her cutting words have my hands clenching on the cups.

  “But then Tyler showed up. He comes from nothing too, and he fits in here.”

  I move to step past her, but the crowd is thick and she cuts me off.

  “I wondered why he even bothers talking to you, but once I figured out he was staying with you, it all made sense. He wants to be besties with your dad. It’s a lot easier if you two are cool. Know what I mean?”

  Anger boils up, and I squeeze my hands into fists. “You don’t have the first clue about me and Tyler.”

  Her lips curve cruelly. “No? Let’s find out. We’ll call it an experiment. I bet he doesn’t look for you. I bet he doesn’t even notice you’re gone.”

  Carly grabs the water out of my hand before I can stop her and carves through the crowd on her shiny stripper heels.

  I watch as she reaches the stage and holds it out to Tyler.

  When he notices her, he takes the cup with an easy half smile that looks no different than the ones he gives me.

  He doesn’t look up.

  My body sags, the weight of his dismissal a physical pain.

  Carly’s “experiment” doesn’t mean anything. But it doesn’t stop the ache inside.

  I can’t linger on it for long because out of nowhere, the minions are on me with their bingo wands of destruction.

  “This is ugly.”

  I gasp as one of the bingo dabbers smears a bright pink spot on my top.

  “So are you.”

  Another one plants itself on my bare shoulder.

  Before long it’s a flurry of attacks. My clothes, my arms, my face.

  I shove them on instinct, scratching at them. Pushing. Grabbing hair.

  One screeches, but the attack doesn’t stop.

  There are too many hands.

  By the time they step back to admire their work, my arms, legs, and costume are covered in red blotches.

  I’m grateful I can’t see my face right now. Not because I probably look like I’m about to cry, but because it’s likely as covered as the rest of me.

  “That might be an improvement,” one of them decides before turning on her heel and stalking off toward Carly.

  I stare through the crowd, some of which is now turning to whisper about me. The humiliation and anger blur.

  Tyler’s on stage, oblivious.

  I turn on my heel and stalk back to the kitchen.

  Pen finds me nursing a drink against the counter. “Shit! What happened to you? Do you want to go home?”

  “No,” I bite out. “These assholes can’t run me out. I’m not leaving.” My gaze lands on the island, where a dozen people are playing some kind of drinking game.

  I grab Pen’s hand and tug her over. The game is something with cards and rules layered on top. They deal us in.

  I’m good at cards and immediately look for a strategy, but it’s pretty much all luck.

  Somehow, I end up drinking the contents of my cup in two hands before losing again.

  The floor is already tilting when I go to drink, but my cup is empty. “I need a minute,” I mumble when the dealer holds out a half-empty bottle of vodka.

  “You have to drink,” he replies.

  Before I can decide if that’s a good idea, another player interjects.

  “If you don’t drink, you have to kiss someone.”

  A guy closes his eyes and whirls his arm around like some dementedly biased spin the bottle. His finger lands on Jamie from my chem class.

  “No. No offense,” I blurt.

  “You have to kiss him or drink.”

  “She doesn’t have to do shit.”

  I turn to find Tyler inches away, looking fierce.

  The entire group’s gone quiet. I hadn’t noticed the music change over to a soundtrack and wonder how long he’s been done.

  “The rules are drink or kiss,” the dealer reiterates.

  Tyler leans over the table. “Fuck the rules.”

  I look around the room, every pair of eyes on us, waiting to see what we’ll do.

  What he’ll do.

  What he does is drag me off my stool so we’re toe to toe next to the counter.

  “What are you doing?” Tyler demands.

  “Trying to distract myself from my sudden onset chickenpox,” I drawl, gesturing to my body.

  “By playing a drinking game? When was the last time you drank anything?”

  “About thirty seconds ago.” My deliberate ignorance to his question has his eyes flashing.

  I plant my hands on my hips, the springy pink tulle, now smeared with ink, coarse under my pinkies. “There’s a whole party of people here waiting to jump when you tell them how high. Don’t trouble yourself with me.”

  Tyler curses, rubbing a hand over his neck and pitching his crown at a dangerous angle. My fingers itch to fix it, but before I can, he brushes a thumb over my cheek.

  Every part of him is hard, tense, tight, except for where his touch caresses my skin. “I like troubling myself with you.”

  Heat streaks through my body, and the tortured expression in his gaze makes my throat work.

  We’re not alone, but fuck, I wish we were.

  I want a dark room and a dose of that truth serum from the movies, because the way he’s looking at me I’d give anything to know what’s going through his mind.

  “Why?” I ask.

  I want him to say it’s because he cares about me. Because we’re friends and I matter more than all the people in this room. This entire damned house.

  Because what Tyler and I have is special and always will be.

  “She still has to kiss someone,” a voice insists.

  “Kiss Tyler,” someone else calls.

  As if on command, my attention locks on Tyler’s mouth.

  His lips are firm and parted, and I’m suddenly obsessed with knowing what they would feel like on mine.

  I might actually be drunk, because I’ve never stared at him for so long. Especially in public. With him noticing.

  “What do you say?” I ask finally. My voice comes out low.

  Tyler reaches out to twist a piece of hair that’s fallen in my face between his fingers. My heart skips as he tucks it back behind my ear.

  A crowd has gathered. Even Ca
rly and the minions are hovering in the doorway, anticipating whatever drama is about to unfold.

  Nervous laughter starts around us, but when Tyler turns his head to scan the room, the crowd falls silent again.

  I count my heartbeats until his attention returns to me, his expression is a mask of pity.

  “I’m not kissing you tonight.”

  The words are a hoarse whisper but the crowd jumps on it, hollering and jeering as bitter humiliation washes over me for the second time tonight.

  Tyler doesn’t flinch, doesn’t turn from me, almost as if he’s trying to tell me something without words.

  I don’t know what. His words spoke plenty.

  Of course he wasn’t going to kiss me. He’s the new prince of Oakwood.

  I nod to the dull circlet on his head, threatening to slide off his silky dark hair. “You’re losing your crown.”

  Tyler reaches for it, and I step back toward the circle of players toward Jamie. The guy in question seems to have forgotten about me, judging by his start when I close my eyes as I press my mouth to his.

  Jamie tastes like beer and whatever I’ve been drinking mixed together. He doesn’t smell like cedar or sunshine, and I grab the front of his shirt to hold him to me as I count in my head to ten.

  Kissing this guy was a way to assert whatever free will I still had, but when I pull back, I realize that what felt like a small win is a loss.

  Tyler’s nowhere in sight.

  * * *

  When I pry my eyelids open on Saturday morning, my head pulses, the relentless percussion for a song I didn’t request.

  The sun is too bright because someone forgot to pull my blackout curtains last night.

  My phone buzzes on my nightstand, and I reach for it.

  Pen: Hey, superstar.

  Pen: How are you feeling?

  I sit up, wincing, and type back.

  Annie: My mouth will taste vodka until the day I die.

  Which, judging by my current state, could be today.

  It’s eleven in the morning, but I don’t want to go back to sleep. So, instead, I go to the bathroom and pop two Advil before dragging my ass to the shower.

  Pen’s response comes as I’m drying my hair.