Stolen Crush

by Stunich, C. M.

  I slow down and pull completely off the trail, parking in a relatively flat spot with scrubby groundcover. We idle there as the other ATV comes up on us, my fingers tapping out a rhythm on the wheel as my eyes flick in Parrish’s direction. He looks entirely miserable.

  “We don’t have to be impossible, you know,” I tell him, but my voice is pitched too low. I’m not even sure he can hear me over the engine.

  Slowly, he turns to look at me, his toasted almond gaze hidden behind the helmet’s visor.

  Next thing I know, our ATV is lurching forward, sliding through the dirt toward the dip in the trail. I slam my foot down on the brake automatically, wondering if I somehow hit the gas or … but no. The movement is too violent. My body ends up slamming into the steering wheel as we pitch forward, right over the edge.

  We’ve been hit so hard that our vehicle tips upside down, the world spinning and swirling around me. I see trees and sky and ground, and it feels impossible to tell which end is up. That is, until the roof of the ATV smashes into the dusty ground, swirling red-brown clouds around us as I choke and sputter. I feel weightless and yet impossibly heavy all at once, hanging upside down and held in place by my seat belt and nothing else.

  “Dakota!”

  It takes several seconds for me to realize that Parrish is screaming my name. I feel his hand clamp around mine, and then someone’s reaching in through the window and undoing my seat belt. My shoulder hits the roof just before my neck does, and pain shoots through me as I crumple out of my seat. Whoever it is that took off my seat belt, they’re grabbing me, dragging me through the window and onto the hot dirt.

  I’m so disoriented that it feels impossible to make sense of the situation. Did they … did they hit us? I wonder, thinking of the other ATV. If so, they might be hurt, too. Or maybe it’s the driver that’s rescuing me right now?

  Only, this person doesn’t seem to care if they’re hurting me or not.

  I’m being dragged across the ground, my bare legs burning as they scrape and tear over hot rocks and spiky shrubs. A door opens beside me, and I realize that whoever this is, they’re trying to put me into their own ATV. Are they … is this a kidnapping?

  “Hey!” It’s Parrish’s voice. I blink a few times, my vision obscured by the dust, trying desperately to get my mind together. “Hands off my gamer girl, bitch.”

  My eyes find the damaged front end of the ATV as my ‘rescuer’ tries to lift me up and put me into the vehicle. That’s when it all comes together: yep, he hit us. Accidentally? Purposefully? I have no idea.

  I’m also not willing to wait around and find out.

  With a scream, I kick out hard and nail my attacker right in the balls. He lets out a wail and drops me to the dirt where I scramble to my feet, stumbling away and tripping over another rock. My knees hit the ground hard, but when I turn around, it’s Parrish that’s behind me. He grabs me by the hand and yanks me to my feet before turning on the driver.

  Parrish doesn’t skip a beat, picking up a huge rock and tossing it at the other guy as I struggle to catch my breath. The rock makes contact with the man’s helmet, but Parrish isn’t done there. He picks up a huge stick and wields it like a bat, standing in front of me like a shield.

  It’s a bit heroic, a lot sexy.

  The driver of the other ATV hesitates, and even though I can’t see his face because of his helmet, there’s something about him that strikes me as familiar. The fine hairs on my arms stand at attention as a chill ripples through me. Do I know this person? Have I seen him somewhere before?

  “Why don’t you fuck off to whatever hole you crawled out of?” Parrish snarls, still holding the stick up like a weapon. The driver starts toward us, reaching inside his jacket like he’s going for something—more specifically, like he’s going for a weapon.

  Seconds later, I hear the roar of a motor, and our guide appears on the trail just up ahead, clearly looking for us.

  The man drops his arms to his side before hopping back in the ATV and taking off the way he came, cutting across the dirt to the opposite fork of the trail.

  What. the. fuck?

  I turn to look at Parrish, his helmet tossed aside, his eyes wide as he stares at the retreating dust cloud left by the other ATV.

  “Was he … trying to kidnap me?” I ask, but Parrish doesn’t answer me. Instead, he reaches down to take my hand, curling his fingers through mine.

  And that’s it.

  I’m sold.

  I’m sold on him, on the possibility of ‘us’, on the thrill of the impossible.

  Sure, I hate the guy, but I like him, too.

  And that, that’s what’s going to get me into trouble.

  The conclusion that Tess, Paul, and our guide seem to agree on is this: the other driver hit us on accident, thought I was injured and was trying to help me, and then panicked about liability before taking off.

  Sounds reasonable.

  But then, I was there. That’s not what it felt like. The way he dragged me across the ground, the way he took off when he heard the other ATV. No, it doesn’t seem right. I can’t shake the feeling, even as Tess fawns all over me and Parrish, her overprotective mothering instincts clicking into full gear.

  We make a police report, give our statements, and then move on. Because it was just an accident, right? Other than a few bumps and bruises (and a seriously sore neck on my part), there aren’t any injuries. Nobody is missing. Everyone is together.

  “Are we finally forgiven?” Parrish asks as we pull into the parking lot of the world’s very last Blockbuster Video. Like, for real, the very last one. For those unfamiliar with Blockbuster Video (meaning me, who just looked this up on my Tess-given phone), a Blockbuster is a video rental store that used to rent out, well, videos and then later DVDs and Blu-rays before streaming was a thing. “When we get home, do we get our doors back?”

  Tess ignores her son’s question, parking near the front of the store before glancing back to give him a look. Her gaze slips over to me, and I see it, that thing I didn’t want to believe but I’ve known was true for a long time anyway: crushing disappointment. I am a crushing disappointment.

  I just stare back at her.

  “We’ll talk about it when we get home,” she says, getting out of the car with the rest of the family following suit. I’m not exactly sure why we’re here or what need we might have for a video rental store, but Parrish takes pity on me.

  “It’s tradition: we come here during every trip and rent a movie, grab some popcorn.” He shrugs. “My dad says it’s ‘an experience’. Anyway, they have some dope hoodies if you don’t care about ancient technology.”

  I smile at him, but I can’t seem to make myself laugh.

  I’m too creeped out by the incident earlier; my mind is making connections that shouldn’t be made. The hiking incident. Waking up in the woods. Do I have a stalker or something? What gives? Part of me wonders if I shouldn’t tell Tess, but then, our relationship isn’t exactly on solid ground. To tell her about the hiking incident, I have to admit to leaving the state to see my sister. Tess was pissed enough about my visit to the coffee shop. And the woods incident? How do I know if that was even real? I’ve been filming myself sleeping every night and as far as I can tell, the only crime that’s being committed is the excessive amount of drool my poor pillow’s been subjected to.

  Tess and I don’t exactly have an open dialogue.

  “Thank you,” I tell Parrish, turning to glance his way. He’s already on his way out of the car, but he pauses briefly to look back at me. “For trying to save me.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he replies, his voice much softer than usual. “You saved yourself by kicking the dude in the balls.” He turns away, toward the massive yellow sign that stretches across the front of the building. “Do you really think he was trying to help you? It didn’t look like that to me.”

  “Didn’t look like that to me either.” I join him outside on the pavement, heading into the air-conditio
ned building with its blue carpet and shelves filled with DVDs and Blu-rays. Wow. Parrish was right: it’s like an archaeological study in here. I could probably find dinosaur bones if I looked hard enough.

  The Vanguard family is wandering the aisles, picking up cases and reading descriptions on movies. Even Kimber is participating without complaining which is a weird sight to behold. Parrish breezes past me to head toward the snack section of the store, loading up on popcorn and Whoppers and red licorice that he piles on the counter like this isn’t his first time at the rodeo.

  “Parrish,” Tess calls out, holding up a case in the air. “I bet I know what your vote’s for.”

  He joins her, taking the case from her hand and turning it over with a frown. One of his brows goes up as Tess laughs, throwing her arm around him in a rare gesture of affection. Kimber, Ben, Amelia, Henry, and Paul join them, and the family takes a vote between three different movies.

  It’s in that moment, standing by the door by myself that it hits me: I want to fit into this family. I want to, but I don’t. I might never be able to. And yet, the family that I left behind in New York, the family that attends Washington State, I might not be able to see them for years.

  Years.

  As Parrish said, there are ‘dope hoodies’ here. I bury myself in the task of looking through them, so nobody has to see me cry.

  Later, when we get back to the house, I go straight to the basement to avoid having to talk to Laverne. The way she looks at me makes me feel even more unwanted, even more like an outlier.

  I’m lying on my bed when I hear a soft knock at the door.

  “Come in.” I glance toward the door as Parrish opens it and slips inside, closing it softly behind him.

  “We’re getting ready to start the movie,” he tells me, but not like he wants me to join, more like he’s just stating facts. Without asking, he sits down on the edge of the bed. Can’t really blame him considering the number of times I’ve burst into his room and gotten on his bed without permission. “I’m guessing you’re not interested in watching it?”

  He looks at me, dressed in a different Whitehall Prep hoodie than the gray one he usually favors. Did I mention that our school has a mech shop? No joke: we have sweatpants, sweaters, vests, windbreakers, joggers, socks, custom sneakers, headbands, etc. There’s no shortage to WHPA gear.

  “Mm.” It’s not much of an answer, just a grunt. Part of me does want to watch the movie, to laugh with Ben or tease the twins. To sit beside Parrish, mostly. For Tess to stop looking at me like I’m the world’s biggest failure. I didn’t do anything wrong by seeing Maxine: Tess is the one in the wrong for taking the Banks away from me the way she did. Bringing me here to live with her, I suppose that I can understand that, but banning me from seeing or even talking to my family? Not cool.

  At the same time that I’m thinking about going upstairs and joining the Vanguard family movie night, I feel like I’m betraying the Banks. I should be strong here, should stand up to Tess, maybe even find some glee in her suffering. And yet, I can’t. I just can’t.

  “I don’t want to watch it either,” he says, rubbing at his elbow. He pushes the sleeve up to examine it, revealing a huge blue-purple bruise. We’re both a little banged up from earlier, that’s for sure.

  “You don’t have to bow out because of me,” I tell him which, apparently, is the exact wrong thing to say. He grits his teeth in annoyance.

  “Yeah, maybe I do. Because I feel bad for you. Because I wouldn’t want to watch a movie with Laverne either, especially not after the way she treated you.”

  “Which isn’t much different from the way you treated me when I first came to Medina.” I sit up, tossing my black and lime green hair over my shoulder. As Parrish watches, I comb it out with my fingers and start to braid it. “Anyway, you don’t have to feel sorry for me. You can go watch the movie if you want.”

  There’s a long pause there.

  I look up to find him staring at my fingers, almost as if he’s mesmerized by the act of me braiding my hair. He lifts his gaze up to mine even as my pulse begins to race, and I sense that we’re on the precipice of … something.

  “I’d rather be down here.” Another pause. “With you.”

  I exhale sharply, leaving the finished braid to hang loosely over my shoulder. Without a hair band, it’ll come undone, but oh well. This is so much more fucking important.

  “Why?” I ask, and Parrish gives this sharp, dangerous laugh. See, back to the dangerous thing again. He’s all wrong for me. He’s Tess’ son in ways that I’ll never be her daughter. We can’t be together, not without hurting her. I bite my lip, which isn’t at all a usual move of mine. I snatched this habit from Maxx.

  “You’re kidding, right?” He says, looking me over like there’s something there that should be obvious. “You’re loud and opinionated and pushy, always in my room, touching all my things.” I raise a brow at him, but he isn’t done. Instead, he turns toward me and crawls up on the bed, until he’s got an arm braced on either side of me and our faces are far, far too close together. “You’re stupid good at video games and you like weird things, like those odd little horse statues all over your bookshelves.”

  “They’re Unicornos, and they’re collectible art—” I start, but Parrish cuts me off by leaning forward and pressing his mouth against mine. His lips are soft, but the pressure is firm. Without even having to think about it, I open to him, sliding my arms around his neck and pulling him close. There’s that scent again, that dewy clover and clean linen and citrus smell. And he’s right: I seriously don’t even know what I mean by dewy clovers.

  Somehow, our tongues end up tangled together and the kiss deepens. Parrish lowers his body against mine until he’s essentially resting on top of me. It’s delicious, the feel of his mouth against my own, the heat of his body. I can even feel his heartbeat, thundering away at least as quickly as my own. Maybe faster. No, definitely faster.

  My fingers tease those chocolate waves of his, and an excited thrill shoots me. I end up grabbing a handful of it and tugging. The motion encourages Parrish to kiss deeper, to press harder into me. Somehow, he ends up between my legs, and it feels so damn good. We might be fully clothed, but there’s a certain friction to him, rubbing up against me the way he is.

  We break apart briefly, but just to breathe, just to mingle our breaths more like.

  My right hand slides between us, searching out the firm bulge in his academy-issued sweatpants.

  “Is this okay?” I ask as he stares down at me, partially propped up on his elbows. The room is mostly dark, the only light coming from the TV mounted to the wall. It’s not even playing anything, just sitting on a row of Netflix K-dramas, waiting for me to choose a new treasure. This though … this is so much better.

  “You have my express consent,” he says which gets a smile out of both of us. Not that consent is funny or anything. Personally, I find it sexy as fuck.

  “You’re sure?” I repeat, even as I give him a little squeeze and he lets out a sharp exhale. “If Tess finds out—”

  “Please don’t talk about Tess right now,” he whispers, and then he’s kissing me again and I’m sliding my hand beneath the waistband of his pants. It isn’t much of a journey to find the velvety hardness waiting inside, the silky skin that makes his stomach muscles contract when I tease my fingers across it. “Fuck.”

  “Roll over,” I whisper, withdrawing my hand. He does, almost so quickly that it’s comical. I straddle his thighs and look down at him, those dark eyes staring back up at me. I wonder how many times he’s done this before? The rumors going around Whitehall sort of paint Parrish as like, a nun? Yeah, kind of like a nun. When Lumen told me I was the only girl willing to cop to sleeping with him (a lie), she was right. Nobody else will admit it. Doesn’t mean he’s a virgin or anything but … he could be.

  We stare at each other for a while before I reach down and tear my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I’m wearing that stupid
bralette thing with the holes in it again. Doesn’t really hold my boobs, but who cares? It’s comfy, and it keeps the nips from chafing.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks me, and then he cups the side of my face with his inked hand. I can’t even take it, the feel of his skin sliding against mine. I lean down and kiss him, loving the feel of his strong arms wrapping my waist. Parrish squeezes me so tightly that I wonder if he ever plans on letting me go. I like it, feeling wanted that way. He must like it, too, considering the sounds he’s making.

  “I was thinking about my nips chafing,” I reply, and he snorts at me. The humor dissipates like smoke when I sit back up and push his hoodie and shirt up his chest, revealing his hardened nipples. There’s ink everywhere, like on every square fucking inch. It must’ve taken a lot of time to do all of this work. I run my palms across it, enjoying the way his muscles tense beneath my touch. “Also, I lied.” I lift my gaze back to his face. “Your art is … it’s exquisite.”

  He swallows hard as I drag my nails down his skin, back toward his dick.

  “Not all of this is mine,” he admits, his gaze sliding to the right for a brief moment. “Some of it was done by Chasm …” He trails off, and I think we both realize what the implications in his words are. Chasm. Chasm … maybe he and I have a thing? I don’t know. All I know is that I really, really like Parrish.

  “Regardless, you’re the canvas, and you’re beautiful,” I tell him, wrapping my fingers around the heat of his body. He bucks his hips, letting his head fall back, his lids growing heavy. It’s almost surreal that we’re in here doing this, like it’s a dream that I don’t ever want to wake up from.

  What happened to as if, Little Sister? Or I’m going to bury you?

  Those moments seem so far away from this one, as if an eon has passed rather than a handful of months. Doesn’t matter. The connection was there from the beginning, when we looked at each other and that hatred boiled up like flames, consuming us both.

  Parrish was attracted to me, and he didn’t want to be.