by Angel Lawson
Of course, then we’d stepped out and meticulously cleaned out the Jeep to free it of any hamburger-related messes. This new Reyn, I’ve found, is a bit anal retentive, and if I didn’t know the source of it, it’d be painfully cute. As it stands, I could see the anxiety creasing his forehead as he picked a piece of lettuce from the console.
Sydney brings me crashing back to the present when she looks at me, eyes sharp and accusing. “Oh my god, are you high right now?”
I balk, casting furtive glances at the people around us. “Excuse me?”
“The way you’re acting today?” She raises her eyebrows. “That’s sure what it seems like.”
I grip my fork and want to tell her that the only thing I’m high on is the boy who just walked into the dining hall. Obviously, that’s not happening. “Well, I’m not,” I snap, face heating. “And maybe you can ask that a little louder next time. I don’t think they heard you over in Canada.”
She shrugs. “No one’s listening to us.”
I sigh, eyes moving back toward where Reyn is waiting in the lunch line. “You can’t ask me that every time you think my behavior is a little off.”
Before I can think to be more careful, her eyes are following mine. She looks at Reyn, then back at me, eyes full of pity. “Please don’t tell me your delusional crush on Reynolds McAllister somehow managed to survive despite everything.”
Now, I outright drop my fork. Delusional? “What are you talking about?” DELUSIONAL?
“Oh, come on. The way you’re looking at him right now?” She rolls her eyes, looking at him again. “Everyone always knew you were crazy for him, and it’s not like you were alone. None of us were being realistic back then, even when the competition was mediocre.” When she meets my gaze again, her face is full of sympathy. “Is that what has you so spacey this week? Because if it is, then we need to find you someone to shake it off. That way lies a path of rejection and relapse.”
Sydney Prescott has literally stunned me speechless, because I can’t even tell her how wrong she is. Instead I have to sit here and be told that I don’t have a chance with Reyn, despite having had his hand between my thighs two nights ago. The pressure inside my head rises until I can finally grind out a quiet, “Did it never occur to you that I might just have stuff going on?”
She purses her lips, considering me. “Like what? Newspaper stuff?”
“No, not—” I bite off my growled response, because this is the thing about Syd. To her, I can easily be boiled down to two things; my injuries and school. She really believes that encompasses me. “For the record, you don’t actually know everything about me. And given how completely careless you are with other people’s secrets, I’m starting to think maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
Her eyes flick up, flashing in equal parts anger and hurt. “That’s a really shitty thing to say to someone who’s stuck by your side for three years.”
“Look,” I start, drawing in a calming breath. “You know I appreciate you being my friend and everything, but when you talk about it like that, it’s like you see it as some form of charity. And then you hold it over me, like I have to tell you everything because you’re my only option.”
She gives me a blank look. “I am your only option, Vandy.” She doesn’t even say it meanly—maliciously—but it still feels like a slap in the face. “I’m your only friend because you spent years doped up on painkillers, limping around like a zombie. That’s your fault, not mine.”
Now, that was said meanly.
“You know what?” I say, throwing my things haphazardly onto my tray. “I think I’m ready to expand my options.”
“Me, too.” She pushes her chair back dramatically and grabs her lunch tray. It’s game day and the glitter accenting her uniform makes it all that more theatrical. She doesn’t look back as she storms off to a table filled with a group of lacrosse players, including Sebastian, who pats the bench next to him for her to slide in. A few people nearby notice the commotion and turn to look at me, but once they see that it’s just Vandy Hall, their eyes glaze over and they go back to the business of eating lunch.
I push my tray away, suddenly void of anything resembling an appetite. My eyes prickle, and it’s dumb. It shouldn’t hurt like this. I know that. Whatever I’ve got going on with Reyn, it’s between us and no one else. Sydney is clueless. This should slide right off me, because I know better.
Delusional.
Instead, that single word just keeps looping around in my head.
“Over here,” a voice calls, and I look up to see Aubrey beside my table. She’s waving Emory over, and I cast my eyes around in confusion. Emory doesn’t exactly ignore me at school, but he doesn’t actually engage me much, either—not unless it’s some hyper-protective move that’s sure to annoy me.
But Emory isn’t the one deciding to approach me. It’s Aubrey. It’s a testimony to his interest in her that when she takes the seat just vacated by Sydney, he drops into the one next to her without a second thought.
A few feet behind them, Reyn lopes across the room, eyes finally landing on me. My whole body rushes with heat and I’m pretty sure this is headed for some of that rejection stuff Sydney just mentioned. He’s not even allowed to sit with me. The muscle in the back of his jaw tenses, but before either of us can figure out how to handle the situation, Emory slides the chair out next to him and tells him to sit down.
Problem solved.
Reyn sets his tray on the table across from me and slings his backpack over the chair. I pull my plate back toward me and focus on the lettuce as he shoves his long legs under the table.
His knee bumps into mine. “Sorry,” he mutters, picking up his fork. When our eyes meet, he stares at me, forehead creasing. There’s a question in his eyes, lips parting as if he wants to verbalize it, but then his gaze pings to Emory, and he doesn’t.
I just shake my head in response.
“How did y’all’s appointment go?” Aubrey asks. “Mine hurt more than I thought it would. Well, not hurt, exactly. It felt strange.”
Emory says, “Reyn won’t tell anyone where he got it. We have a pool going.”
Reyn answers, “It’s not on my ass.”
“Oh, that was Ben’s guess. Mine was tramp stamp.”
Reyn pelts him with a green bean. “You’re not even being creative.”
No one ever asks me where mine is. Thankfully.
Emory opens a bag of chips and Aubrey casually plucks one from inside, which is interesting. Emory and food sharing? Must be serious.
“I got mine on my ankle,” Aubrey says, and I already know Emory got his on his shoulder.
Under the guise of gathering my hair over a shoulder, I glance toward where Syd is sitting. She’s looking right at me, blank-faced and guileless, and I get this white-hot stab of resentment as her gaze shifts to Reyn.
She rolls her eyes at me.
Delusional.
I look back at Reyn, who’s watching me, that question in his eyes again.
Instead of answering, I bump his knee, holding it against his. My own question.
He responds by pressing back, studying his lunch carefully. There’s no mistaking the way his lips are flirting with a smirk. I spread my fingers over my knee, and a second later feel the graze of his fingertips on mine.
Heat burns the tip of my ears and I squeeze his fingers, laying them on my knee. Sitting with me at lunch could get him in trouble. Flirting with me in front of Emory could get his ass kicked. But as usual, Reyn has a better read on the situation than I do, because my brother is fully entranced with Aubrey. He’s placed his hand around her back, on the seat of her chair, leaning as close to her as he possibly can, speaking quietly in her ear.
Reyn takes the opportunity to reach those long fingertips up my bare thigh and toy with the hem of my skirt. Every other sound in the loud cafeteria vanishes. I’m focused on the way his skin feels against mine. His pouty bottom lip. The memory of making out with him in the front seat of h
is Jeep, our lips salty from fries, windows fogging over.
As the seconds pass, I get more and more overheated—overwhelmed, worried about getting caught. This boy is fire and I’ve always been attracted to his flame. With my heart pounding, I abruptly push my chair back and announce, “I need to go to the library before next period.” Emory’s barely paying attention, so I’m able to give Reyn a significant look as I leave.
The crisp fall air relieves the heat, sort of, and the quiet of the library settles my heart rate. I stroll through the stacks, past the librarian’s desk. Ms. Cowen gives me a small smile. The library is a common haunt of mine. For the past three years, I’d spent a lot of time here, pretending to read a book in one of the comfortable chairs along the back wall, while really being high as a fucking kite.
I’m good at pretending, and right now, strolling through the stacks, I’m pretending that I’m not waiting—dying—for Reyn to come find me.
I find myself back in the biographies, the quietest row in the building. The only sound is the drag of my feet on the carpeted floor. I run my finger along the dusty spines, trying to settle this crazed, energized thing inside of me. I’d lived so long with dulled feelings, but now everything hits against me sharp as knives. Scary. Dangerous. Thrilling. I’ve had it bad for Reyn since as far back as I can remember, and I told him that I wasn’t disposable, something he could toss away once he was done with the thrill.
But even I know I don’t mean it.
It’s not a good feeling, knowing that I’d just take whatever I can get. But the thought of not having it at all is so much worse.
I stop, spotting a shiny new cover among the older titles, and pull a Ronan Farrow book off the shelf. Now this guy knows how to investigate and reveal a scandal. I tuck the book against my chest, turn the corner, and stop short, my hand reaching out to the tall bookshelf for support.
He stands down at the other end, red and black football tie slightly askew. His hands are in his pockets—no pretense of even looking for a book—and his eyes are focused on me, green, alert. He’s looking at me in a way that makes my stomach flutter anxiously.
“I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to come find you,” he says, voice low enough not to carry back out to Ms. Cowen. His words might be uncertain, but the heat in his eyes as they drag down my body are anything but.
“That was the idea,” I admit.
He stalks toward me, propping his shoulder on the shelf in a casual lean. His eyes are intense, searching. He has this way of pitching his deep voice where it seems like anything he’s saying is just meant for me. “You looked upset before.”
“It wasn’t important,” I insist, mirroring his pose.
He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and it makes me shiver. “I probably shouldn’t have touched you like that, not in front of everyone. Definitely not in front of Emory. Sorry.”
I can still feel the warmth of his fingers on my leg, like they never left. “Don’t be. I wanted you to.” Quietly, I confess, “I’ve always wanted you to.”
He looks down at me, his wide shoulders casting me in a shadow. I think about the scars and how much I’d wanted to touch them that night he showed them to me. How much I want to touch him right now. Reyn has never been one to resist, and although his interest in me is still a surprise, the fact he reaches for me, touching me just under the chin, isn’t.
Every nerve in my body alights and only increases when he speaks. “Seeing you all day and not being able to get close to you is killing me,” he confesses, inching closer, like we’re magnetized. “Knowing that mark is on your thigh. Knowing what your lips taste like.” His hand settles on my hip. “It’s making me reckless.”
He turns me so that my back presses against the bookshelves, his hand dropping to fist the hem of my skirt. His knuckles graze the skin there, teasing, pressing. He kisses me, coaxing my lips apart with little licks. His tongue tastes sweet, like the juice he drank at lunch.
Delusional.
Warm insurgence grows in my belly and I grab at his tie, tugging him down so I can reach him better, sliding against his hot mouth. He makes a sound deep in his throat, something guttural and barely restrained, as the kiss swells in intensity. I run my hands down his biceps, feeling them flex as he surges into a deep, sucking kiss. Heat pools between my legs, and I push my hips into him without thinking, pure instinct.
His kiss sort of skitters and he pulls back. “I like you like this,” he whispers. His eyes bore into mine as he carefully wedges a thigh between my legs, like he’s testing my reaction.
The length of him, hard and pressing beneath the front of his pants, slots up against my hip. The shock of the pressure against my middle is just as intoxicating as the knowledge of what I’m doing to him. I’d seen it through the window, but actually feeling it? Jesus.
Who needs drugs when you can have this?
“Like what?” I ask, distracted.
He rumbles, “Bold.” Kiss. “All worked up.” Lick. “Mine.”
He’s the Devil alright, always there with an open hand, always ready to drag me with him into trouble. His lips burn against my neck, stubble rough against my skin. The pain feels good, grounding, just like his thigh, which I can’t help but buck against. He spits a low curse into my throat when I do, mouth dropping to the edge of my collar. He pushes with his leg, a hand coming down to the small of my back, grinding me harder against his thigh.
I gasp at the friction, hands clamped around his shoulders. “Oh god.” It feels so good and solid against me that I legitimately worry there might be a wet spot on his pants when he pulls away.
He mutters a sharp, “Fuck, V,” and takes my mouth again, his movements hungry and almost as desperate as my own.
My hips move of their own accord, chasing the friction and heat, and this could be enough. I could ride Reyn’s leg and probably have the best orgasm of my life, and from the way he’s pushing into me, I think it wouldn’t be so bad for him, either.
Then the bell tower chimes.
His lips pause and he looks down at me, chest rising and falling. Next class begins in ten minutes. We both freeze with the awareness that Ms. Cowen will do a sweep to get all the students hiding out during lunch back to class.
“We should…” I start and he nods, fingers still making lazy circles down on my outer thigh. I straighten his tie and he smoothes down my skirt. I have no doubt his heart is hammering as hard as mine.
He looks at me and smiles with those abused, red lips, like I’m some kind of prize he’s just swiped off the headmaster’s desk.
“Will I see you at the game tonight?” he asks, glancing down to the end of the stacks where a student passes by, oblivious to us being there. Regardless, he adjusts his body so I’m blocked from view.
I shake my head, trying to calm myself down. “The paper’s double booked. Mr. Lee assigned Dustin Brown to cover the game tonight. I have to go with the softball team over to Eastside. It’s a region game.”
“Oh,” he says, eyes dropping. “We’ll figure something out.”
He kisses me one last time, then releases me, walking one way down the aisle while I go the other. At the end of the row, I turn the corner and rest my back against the endcap, taking the first deep breath since I saw him standing there.
Reyn loves a shiny object, something new and off-limits, but wanting to make plans? That’s not a quick grope in the stacks.
That’s not delusional.
Sydney: Heard Reyn was kissing someone in the stacks at the library. Guess he’s back in the game.
I stare at the text for a long moment. We hadn’t spoken since our fight earlier in the day, but Syd obviously can’t resist what she thinks is a harsh blow.
“Who’s that?” Dad asks, glancing away from the window. He came to pick me up from school after the softball game was over.
“Just Sydney.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Oh, you know,” I say stiffly, “drama never stops
chasing her.”
He smiles. “She does seem to have a penchant for that, doesn’t she?”
There’s a weird prickle of pride that runs through me when I look down at the message. I was the one kissing Reyn. I’m the one that got a tattoo and was asked to join a secret society. I know that Sydney thinks I’m still the same boring girl she’s always stuck by, but I’m not. Not anymore.
The message stares at me, and although the last thing I want to do is encourage a discussion about who Reyn was kissing in the library, ignoring it seems like a defeat.
Vandy: Reyn in the library? Sounds like mistaken identity if you ask me.
Dad passes Jerry, who waves us through the gate. It makes me think of Reyn and his ongoing feud.
Honestly, everything tonight has made me think of Reyn.
He pulls into the driveway and I notice that Emory’s big truck isn’t there. Dad said they won their game, 76 to 12. I’m sure he’s out celebrating. After he parks the car in the garage, I get out and see Firefly’s tail in the hydrangea bush. I look over my shoulder and say, “Just a minute. Let me go catch the night stalker.”
The garage door shuts behind him and I drop my bag on the driveway. Poking my head into the bush, I see Firefly, then a set of hands pulling him out the other side.
“Looking for this guy?” Reyn asks, holding the cat against his chest while stroking down his back.
“I was.” I tilt my head. “What are you doing out here?”
Reyn pauses, and it’s too dark to make out what his eyes hold, but I can see the silhouette of his parted lips. “I’d probably seem a lot cooler if I said I was getting something out of the car, but I was actually just waiting for you to get home.”
Those warm butterflies spin in my stomach again. I take a step closer and open my mouth to tell him that I’m glad he did, but the garage door opens again.
Dad calls out, “Everything okay? You find the cat?”
“Yes, Dad!” I yell, a little too loud. Firefly jerks back, offended at my volume. “Coming!” I turn to Reyn, grimacing. “Sorry. I have to go.”
