by Thorne, Leia
He takes my hand in his, and I let him. “Only when we’re playing against our rivals, Fair Haven Academy.”
The team blows onto the field, and I spot Rush, his helmet held high in the air.
“We have rivals,” I say, lacing my fingers through his, feeling the blush creep up my arm all the way to my face. “Are they the bad guys, or are we?”
Gage glances my way, a crooked smile slanting his mouth and making his dimples pop. “What do you think?”
What do I think? I think I’m a hypocrite. After last weekend, where I fell asleep in the arms of a guy I barely know, I swore I wouldn’t get played by the school bad boy. And here I am, ignoring the heated glares from girls sitting a few rows over, the whispers floating through the halls when Gage walks me to class, as I let myself fall hard and fast.
I only smile in response.
The game kicks off, and I try to pay attention to the score and details for Rush’s sake, but all I want to do is climb into Gage’s head and find out where this is going. If I’m making a huge mistake. But it doesn’t matter. Over the past two weeks, I haven’t beaten myself up every fucking second. So for that, I’m thankful for the distraction.
During halftime, I get a text from Sawyer. When Palmer’s dance recital is over, she wants Gage to drop me off at her house.
I text my dad quickly and let him know that I’ll be staying over at her house.
Normally, he might care to ask who she is, who her parents are, etc. All the things a caring father would want to know. But he’s even more relieved that I’m not cooped up in my room and am actually making friends.
Last year was hard on both of us, but maybe more so for him, as I barricaded myself in my room, not trusting myself to be around the living.
“Do you think Rush will mind if we leave out early?” I ask Gage.
“One thing you need to understand,” he says, as he pulls me up to stand beside him. “We can do anything we want, Remi. We don’t answer to anyone.”
He lets me go first and, as we descent the steps, his hands fastened to my hips, I feel every leery gaze against my backside. Once we exit the stands, we come up underneath the bleachers and I spot Roland. He’s standing amid a circle of people I don’t know.
Roland notices me, and his gaze shoots right to Gage’s hands on my waist. His expression twists in disdain, and before I can gather the courage to approach him, Gage guides me along the fencing toward the parking lot.
“Do you know Roland Masters?” I ask him.
“Roland?” he repeats. “Yeah, I know Roland.”
There’s a hint of malice in his tone, and my curiosity is piqued. “And…?”
As we approach his car, he hoists me onto the hood, parking his hips between my knees. “Why do you want to know about Roland?”
“His locker is next to mine,” I say vaguely. He raises his brows in question, and I laugh. “I don’t know. He just doesn’t seem to like you very much.”
“He doesn’t like anyone,” Gage says. He rests his forearms on my shoulders, effectively trapping me close. “He’s bad news His father was involved in some retirement hedge fund scam. He’s doing time in a white-collar prison now.”
“Oh, my god. That’s crazy.”
Gage shrugs. “If Roland wasn’t a legacy, he’d already be out of Brighton. But anyway…” He tilts his head, his penetrating blue gaze pinning me. “I don’t want to talk about Roland.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask, unable to mask my grin.
“I don’t want to talk at all.”
This is wrong. I know it. Gage is the epitome of sin. He’s rich, gorgeous, and takes what he wants. Boys like him only want one thing from girls like me. But the temptation to taste him—just a little bit—is too damn strong.
He moves in, and at the last moment, I turn my head.
He groans. “It’s like that?”
I sigh. “I should really be playing hard to get.”
He touches my chin, turning my head back his way. “Why? So you can prove you’re a good girl? So you can make me pine for you? Trust me, I’m pining. I’m pining hard…” He rubs the proof of his words against my inner thigh, and heat blooms at the apex between my legs.
“So I can keep you pining,” I retort.
His blue eyes flick over my face. “It’s always a damn game with you girls. Fine.” He holds up his hands and backs away. “I’ll play by your rules. But just know that you’ve wounded me.” He places a hand over his heart. “I’m big on trust. Ask Sawyer. If you can’t trust me… Then I’m not sure, Remi. Maybe we’re better off as friends.”
My mouth parts. Is he serious? “Gage, stop it.”
“I’m glad we got the trust issues out of the way before this went any further.” He steps forward and cups the back of my neck, placing a chaste kiss to my forehead. “It’s probably better this way.”
“Come on,” he says, pulling out his keys. “I’ll take you to Sawyer’s.”
Shocked, I hop off the hood and approach him. “Are you mad?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all.”
“Gage…” Why do I suddenly feel horrible? Like I actually hurt his feelings? He’s the school player and he’s offended?
“Look, Remi.” He braces his arms on the open car door. “It’s cool. No worries. I’m just big on trust is all. I don’t like games.”
I sink my hands into my back pockets, thinking. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“No, I am. I know you think I’m this innocent little…” I shake my head. “I’m not as innocent as you think.”
He shuts the door. “I knew the truth of that the first time I glimpsed your tattoo. So, tell me.”
I didn’t want anyone at Brighton to know that version of me—the one I left behind. And I can’t bring myself to tell Gage in the middle of the parking lot. “It’s private. I have trust issues. Let’s just leave it at that. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to—”
“What?”
“Be with you,” I manage.
“Prove it,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows. Glance around and laugh. “You’re blunt, you know that?”
He nods slowly. “I don’t like wasting time. If I see something or someone I want, I know it right away. I wanted you the moment I saw you. But, it’s cool. Like I said, probably better off friends.”
Jesus. I palm my face, push my hair away from my forehead. My brain feels bent. I walk around the car to the passenger-side door and climb in. I buckle my seatbelt as Gage dips behind the wheel and cranks the engine.
He sets his phone in the cradle and scrolls through a playlist until he finds a song. I let the somber music drown out my thoughts, but it’s difficult when the lyrics punch me right in the gut.
I send Sawyer a text, lettering her know we’re on our way.
You okay? She texts.
Apparently, she can discern my lethargic mood from the tone of my written words. I send her another text to reassure her that I’m fine. Which, I am. If this is how Gage treats women when he doesn’t get his way, then I probably just dodged a social bullet.
I tuck my phone away in my bag and focus on the dark road ahead. I can feel the tension between us. But as soon as we turn onto Briar Court, my sullen mood shifts. The mansions look like they’re carved out of marble, lit up and glowing, the illuminated fountains in front ethereally beautiful.
Gage pulls into a long, wraparound driveway and parks near a two-story garage. “I’ll walk you over.”
I’m confused at first, then I recall that Sawyer told me she and Gage lived near each other. Right beside each other, in fact.
“It’s fine,” I say, clicking the seatbelt open. “I don’t mind.”
“No. I’ll walk you. Let me.”
I sigh. “All right.”
I follow Gage as he leads me across the manicured lawn and onto a stone path. Sawyer has her own entry to her wing of the house. Gage selects a key from his key ring a
nd opens the door, then disarms the alarm on the panel.
“We’ve lived beside each other for years,” he answers my unspoken question. “Our parents made sure we each had access just in case we needed anything. And of course, now, there’s the soon-to-be union.” At my puzzled expression, he smirks. “It’s all very Brady Bunch.”
“Must be nice,” is all I say, as I look around the foyer, “to have parents who trust you so much.”
There’s that word again: trust. I wonder how the filthy rich handle the trust factor among their kids and…everyone, for that matter. Maybe there’s some commonly known characteristic I’m just missing.
As we ascend the stairs, I take in the fine art and decorations. It’s minimal but classy, stylish. Like Sawyer herself.
“Sawyer said I can wait in her room until she gets here,” I say, plunking my bag down next to a velvet chair. “She’s on her way. So, thanks.”
But Gage doesn’t leave. He takes up the chair across from me, and alights his intense gaze on me. “I’ll stay.”
Chapter 12
Sawyer
As Palmer’s dance recital winds down to a close, I check my phone. Remi messaged ten minutes ago, saying she’s already at my house. I wonder what progress Gage has made, if any. How much more time alone should I give them?
As Palmer exits the stage, applause rises up. I stand and clap along, peeking over at Emry next to me. He attends every single one of Palmer’s recitals, as long as they don’t interfere with lacrosse. He’s so devoted to her; it sometimes hurts to watch. Like watching a romantic comedy…sober.
But, as I watch Palmer take her bow, I realize that I missed this, seeing her dance. She’s always been gifted, always been proficient, but watching her on the stage tonight, she radiates passion and love for the dance.
My emotions are heightened after witnessing her grace and beauty, and when Emry asks me about Remi as we wait for Palmer near the stage wing, I’m not prepared.
He raises his dark eyebrows, prompting me. “Do you?” he repeats.
His question: Do I think it’s strange that Gage selected Remi.
I wrap the shawl around my shoulders tighter, the theater air chilly against my skin. “I think Gage likes a challenge,” I finally say.
Emry turns toward me. His tailored suit makes him look older, more distinguished. “I’m serious, Saw. Her likeness to…” He trails off, knowing better than to utter her name. “Every time I look at Remi, I see her.” He looks away. “It’s like he wants to punish us. Having her with us every day, as part of the society… That will be a cruel torture.”
“Have you told any of this to Gage?”
“Right. And show him a weakness?” He cocks his head, his expression incredulous.
He’s right, of course. Gage exploits weakness. And yet Emry’s relaying his worries to me, knowing I’ll take them back to Gage, demonstrates even greater weakness. “You’re using me,” I say.
“What?”
“Do you not want Remi as a member?” I ask him outright. “Or maybe it’s Palmer’s sentiments you’re imparting?”
“Honestly, Sawyer?” He crosses his defined arms, defensive. “It’s sick, is what it is. Remi won’t replace her. You said this yourself. So what’s his endgame? There has to be a reason. There always is.”
Emry isn’t asking anything that I haven’t already questioned openly. Though I do so with a little more tact, and don’t voice my suspicions in a secretive manner.
“Do you trust me, Emry?” I ask.
His eyebrows knit together over suede-brown eyes. “You know I do.”
“Then trust that I won’t let Gage get carried away with this.” I touch his arm consolingly. “It’s our senior year. Last year…we took a hit. A setback. Gage is making sure that doesn’t happen again, and he wants us to have a strong, memorable final year at Brighton.”
He studies me closely. “What game are you two playing with her?”
“There’s no game.”
“There’s always a game.”
Palmer pushes through the black curtains, all elation and vigorous spirit. Emry turns to retrieve the bouquet of red roses he brought for her.
“Aww,” Palmer coos. “Thank you, lover.” She accepts the roses, then looks at me. “I’m so happy you came, Saw.”
“You were amazing,” I tell her, kissing her on the cheek. I glance at Emry, a warning in my gaze. Don’t ruin Palmer’s moment. “I have to meet up with Gage, but you two enjoy the rest of the night together.”
I leave them behind, pushing through the Exit door of the theater, and the night air greets me with a cooling effect, dowsing some of my irritation.
For Emry’s sake, he better not try to manipulate Palmer onto his side of this. I would hate to have to come between them, to end their relationship. Emry would do good to remember who Palmer belongs to.
During Palmer’s worst moment, before she was hospitalized, she was suspended for fighting. Sadie Bishop—cheer captain and head bitch—thought it would be funny to fill Palmer’s locker with mini skeleton candies.
Oh, how cruel kids can be.
Palmer tackled Sadie in the girl’s locker room, pulled clumps of her hair our, clawed up her face pretty damn good. Palmer is all sweetness and girly whimsy…until she’s angry. The last thing I want Emry to do is put doubt about Remi into Palmer’s mind, if it isn’t already there.
Palmer is my secret weapon, if I ever need her.
Right now, I need to take control of this situation. If the others are doubting, are questioning Gage’s intentions, then I can use that.
I text Remi: On my way.
* * *
The tension pervading my bedroom is thick and crackling by the time I enter. Gage is kicked back on my bed, scrolling through his phone, while Remi sits in my black velvet chair, hands folded in her lap.
“Wow. You two look painfully uncomfortable. What’s up with tonight? Something’s in the air.” I set my bag down on the dresser and turn to the mirror, removing my chandelier earrings and draping my shawl over the mirror.
“How was Palmer’s recital?” Gage asks, avoiding my blunt assessment.
“She was brilliant, as always.” Placing my hands on my hips, I toss a glance between the both of them.
Remi stands, tucking her hands in her back pockets. “I’d love to see her dance.”
I smile. “Next time. We’ll all go.”
I look at Gage on my bed and, suddenly, I feel achy. I squeeze my thighs together to offset the throbbing pulse. I haven’t let myself be satisfied in quite a while, and honestly, if Remi wasn’t here right now, Gage might just have an opening to have his way if he pushed even the slightest.
That thought sends a ripple of apprehension down my back. He needs to leave.
Gage shoves off the bed and walks to the glass door of the balcony. He slides one of the sheer curtains aside. “Just in case you girls get wild and decide to have a pillow fight.” He winks as he heads for the door. “Oh,” he adds, turning around and walking backward, “and please, don’t be shy. Night, ladies.”
I shake my head. “No shame it that one.”
But Remi doesn’t laugh. I start to unfasten the back of my dress and pause, gauging her wary demeanor. “All right. Out with it. What happened tonight?”
“Nothing.” She slips a loose strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “Rush was great at the game. We didn’t stay for the end, but I’m sure Brighton won.”
I push the dress straps off my shoulders. “I didn’t ask about the game.”
Her gaze finds mine. “I’m not sure about Gage’s intentions… Am I crazy? Should I just say to hell with it and be with him?”
Stepping out of my dress, I say, “What do you want?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. We all know what we want.” I walk into my closet and select a silk nighty. “It’s just whether or not we’re brave enough to admit it out loud.”
She walks to the glass d
oors, looking out toward Gage’s window briefly, before she plops down on the bed. “I guess I want to be with him. But I don’t want to be used, discarded. Made to be the school joke.”
I scoff. “Why should any of those things stop you from being with Gage? No matter how far we’ve come, women are still made to feel bad for wanting sex. Use him. Toss him aside afterward.” I change into the gown and then lie on the bed next to her. “Seriously.”
“You make it sound so…”
“What?” I challenge her.
“Sophisticated.”
We look at each other and laugh.
“Right,” I say. “All the guys at Brighton can fuck all they want and be labeled rock stars. Alphas. Get into any college with no stigma. But us? We have to act like perfect little virgins.”
At this, she glances away. I feign an apologetic smile. “Oh, I didn’t mean… I wasn’t saying…”
“No. It’s fine. I get it.” She smiles ruefully.
I nudge her shoulder. “Virgins still have needs. You’re human, right?”
“I think Gage might prefer a more experienced girlfriend.” She thinks for a moment, then: “You’ve known him forever.”
“I have. Since diapers, just about.”
She just looks at me, almost nervous to broach the question, but I know what she wants. She needs my approval to pursue Gage.
“Gage is complicated,” I say, sussing out the best way to get her to the next level, while taking a lead over Gage. I touch the back of her hand, making a connection. “He doesn’t respond to conventions. He’s eccentric, and his idea of love…”
“What?” she asks.
“Men are more physical in general, but Gage is even more so. I think it’s how we were raised.” I pull my hair up, holding it off my shoulder and roll onto my side. “Having parents always at a distance makes you hungry for attention. Being able to physically connect with someone feels real. Tangible. Gage always says words and promises mean nothing, it’s actions that prove intent.”
Her nose scrunches as she considers this. Coming from Gage? A speech like this would trigger her bullshit meter. It sounds—rightfully so—like a line. But from me, another girl, a friend, it’s the excuse she needs to do what she really wants without any culpability to hinder her.
