by Mariano, Sam
I shouldn’t be in here when he isn’t home, when he hasn’t invited me, but as I look at his bed, I can’t help thinking about when I slept here with him and missing it. Since he isn’t here to witness it, I climb onto his unmade bed and crawl under the covers, pulling them up around me. His bed smells like him. I close my eyes and breathe it in, memories stirring of his arms around me. His lips on my skin.
God, I hope he hasn’t brought anyone else in this bed since me. My heart aches at the thought, even though I know he can now and he wouldn’t be doing anything wrong. Since he went to Erika’s when we were on the brink of a relationship, it’s probably unreasonable to imagine he hasn’t slept with anyone now that he’s completely single again.
I relax in Carter’s bed for a few more minutes, thinking about him, then I drag myself out of the bed and wander around. I don’t want to invade his privacy by outright snooping, going through drawers or anything, but I glance at the surfaces to see what he’s left out, unguarded. His history book is sitting out on top of his desk. There’s a little desk lamp and some scattered folders and notebooks. His school things.
I see a paper sideways and hanging out of his history book and I can’t resist opening it up to see what it is. Probably just notes, nothing exciting.
But when I open it, it’s not notes. It’s one of his sketches. And it’s a sketch of me. In the picture, I’m sitting at my desk with my elbow propped on the surface, my face propped on my palm, gazing out the window. He’s clearly got some skill, because this is just lead spread across a sheet of paper, but looking at it, I can feel the girl’s longing to be somewhere else. Maybe it’s because I know it’s me, but I don’t think so. I think he really captured me and committed me to paper. This is amazing.
I wish I could tell him it’s amazing, but then he’d think I went snooping around his room. Since I can’t keep the sketch, I pull my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and snap a picture of it. After sliding my phone back into my pocket, I tuck the sketch between the pages and close the heavy history book.
No point looking around at more stuff I can’t ask about. I’d rather explore his room with him on the bed watching me, not alone, feeling like I’m being sneaky.
I go downstairs instead. His mom told me earlier Chloe would go to bed long before they got home, so I take advantage of the quiet to get out my own school stuff and do a little studying. Actually, a lot of studying. I study and study and study until the words stop making sense and I can’t stop yawning. I didn’t sleep well last night and I woke up before my alarm today, so I’m exhausted.
Deciding to take a short study break, I mark my page and leave my study materials on the coffee table, then I lie down on the couch, pulling one of the decorative pillows under my head.
I just need five minutes to rest my eyes, then I’ll get back to studying.
Chapter 45
My five minutes must run a little long, because the next thing I know I’m roused from sleep by a hand cradling my face. My heavy eyelids drift open and I see Carter sitting on the edge of the couch with me.
Offering him a sleepy little smile, I say, “Hey, you.”
Carter’s lips curve up and he brushes my hair off the side of my face. “Long night?”
“All the playing. Chloe has many toys, and she thought we should try every single one of them out, just in case I never come back.” Turning my head to look at the coffee table where I left a plate of them, I add, “We also made you cookies.”
“How thoughtful,” he remarks.
“It was Chloe’s idea,” I state.
He leans forward and grabs a cookie, then turns it over and inspects it. “Chocolate chip, huh?”
“She said they were your favorite.”
“She knows what she’s talking about,” he says before taking a bite.
I give him a minute to taste it, then I ask, “Good?”
“Delicious.”
Cocking an eyebrow, I ask, “Better than your rally girl’s cookies?”
Grinning, he puts the cookie down on the plate and then looks back at me. “Much better. A million times better. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say these are the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.”
“Hmph, that’s right,” I mutter, satisfied. “How’d the game go?”
“Good. We won. It was a close one, though. Looked like we were going to tie, but we pulled it out in the end.”
Carter shifts positions, kicking off his shoes and nudging them under the table. Then he peels off his letter jacket and drapes it across the empty side of the coffee table. Once he’s down to a gray tee and jeans, he braces his weight on the couch and climbs on top of me.
“How are you and the baby doing tonight?” he inquires.
I roll my eyes, but I’m feeling more indulgent than annoyed about it at the moment. “I’m not pregnant.”
“That’s not what I heard,” he informs me.
“Because you started the rumor.”
“Would I ever do something like that?” he asks with feigned innocence, before bending his head to kiss my neck.
“Yes, you most certainly would,” I mutter, bracing a hand on his back regardless and closing my eyes, giving myself up to a moment of pleasure to soak up his perfect kisses.
“Would you tell me if you were?”
I can’t tell if he’s serious or not, but I pull my neck away so he’ll look at me, just in case. “Of course I would tell you.”
His tone is light and teasing, but his words make me feel protective anyway. “Even though you hate me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I chide, reaching up to caress his face. “I don’t hate you.”
I don’t know if it’s my unguardedness due to the fact that he woke me out of a dead sleep, or something else, but there’s a tenderness between us right now that has been lacking since the nights we spent together, before it all went to hell. My tummy flutters as his hand moves down my torso and stops to unbutton my jeans.
I don’t balk as he unzips them and slides his hand down inside to touch me. It feels too good, and technically speaking, I owe him three rounds anyway.
It should feel cheap and sordid, I suppose, but there’s a freedom in letting him push me into corners, especially now. I can’t bring myself to get back together with him, but doing it his way, we still get stolen moments like these—just without the commitment of a relationship.
Carter breaks away from kissing my neck so he can sit back and drag his shirt off. My gaze drops to admire his beautiful physique. I reach up to drag my hands along the chiseled ridges of his abdomen. My index finger follows the start of the V-shape that starts at his lower abdomen, then I unbutton and unzip his jeans so I can see the rest.
“I like this,” I tell him.
Faintly amused, he watches me trace the line. “Yeah?”
I nod. “I’m a fan. You should keep this.”
“You should probably be careful about making me cookies then,” he jokes.
I let my hands drop and he scoots back. “Well, not at the expense of cookies. I’m not a monster.”
Carter cocks an eyebrow at me, dragging down my jeans. “No, I get to be the monster in this relationship. You’ve gotta be the good one.”
“If I’m not, you can just tell people I’m pregnant so all the other guys will stay away from me.”
“Or I can spank you,” he counters. When he sees what’s underneath my clothes, he smirks at me. “You wore the blue panties I bought you.”
“I thought you might take advantage of my presence at your house tonight and cash in on the math test sex I owe you,” I explain.
“Math test sex,” he repeats, shaking his head as he drags the panties down. “Only you would be so casually forthright about that.”
He tugs my jeans and panties all the way off and tosses them on the floor with his shirt. He doesn’t bother removing my shirt though, merely shucks his pants and climbs between my legs. Pushing a finger inside me, he meets my gaze.
I want to kiss him again, but he’s too far away. Suddenly impatient to get his lips on mine again, I reach down and grab his wrist to tug it away. “I want you inside me.”
“You’re not ready yet,” he tells me.
“That’s okay,” I assure him, reaching for his sides to urge him closer.
Carter shakes his head, but withdraws his finger anyway. “Of course the night I’m in the mood to make love to you, you’re like, ‘just force it inside me.’”
I bite down on my bottom lip to slightly suppress my smile. “Hey, you can make love to me all you want, just get to it. Chop chop, I’m waiting.”
Just for my sass, he pushes inside me hard. I wrap my arms around him and draw him closer, closing my eyes as his lips brush mine.
“A little demanding tonight, huh?” he murmurs, between kisses to the corner of my mouth. “You must’ve missed me.”
I move my hips and try to accommodate him better, but he’s not fully inside me yet. “My body has other ideas, apparently.”
“Doesn’t want to let me in,” he agrees, pulling back and pushing in a little slower. “What have you been telling it about me?” he asks lightly.
“The truth,” I tell him, cocking an eyebrow.
Now he nods. “It all makes sense now. I needed you to lie and cover my ass. God, Zoey. Way to drop the ball.”
I crack a smile, which is mildly annoying. It’s impossible to hold the grudges he deserves to have held against him when he’s making me smile. My stupid body even gives in; I feel him push all the way inside me and I gasp a little at the sudden fullness.
“There we go,” he murmurs, satisfied. “Your body says it’s willing to give me another chance.”
“Oh, does it?”
He nods, then bends to kiss the corner of my mouth again. “Insists it’s the mature thing to do.”
“My body just likes your dick,” I inform him. “It’s hypnotized and its judgment can’t be trusted. I assure you, my mind is not so easily swayed.”
“Well, yeah, because I can’t fuck your mind.”
“You probably could, but it sure wouldn’t help your case,” I toss back.
Carter grins before kissing me square on the mouth. “Have I mentioned lately that I miss you? Because I do. Very much.”
“That won’t work,” I advise him, closing my eyes as he trails kisses across my jawline to my neck.
“What won’t work? Honesty?”
“Sweet talkin’ me. You said yourself I know you better than anyone else. That works against you as well as it worked for you. I know when you’re tryin’ to play me. I know what you want, so I know you’ll say anything to get there. Nothing you do will work. I won’t even believe you if you’re sincere. Let’s just do what we came for and not make it complicated, all right?”
Carter comes up to meet my gaze and watches for a moment, his movements paused. When he finishes studying my features, his jaw furrows. He must not like what he sees. Determination. I took the gamble once, but I won’t make the same bad bet twice, and he knows it.
“Fine,” he finally says, pulling back and then pushing inside me slowly. “If I can’t tell you, I’ll show you. I will make this up to you, Zoey. One way or another. I won’t stop trying until you forgive me, so if at any point you want me to? That’s the only way. We are at a stalemate until someone swerves, and I think you know it won’t be me.”
“It won’t be me either,” I assure him honestly, holding his gaze. “I appreciate the effort, Carter, I really do, but I’m not gonna change my mind. Even if I want to, I won’t. I can forgive myself for betting on you the first time, even after all the red flags. But how do you expect me to sell myself on doing that a second time? I can’t be convinced that’s a good idea. It can’t be done.”
His eyes narrow, momentarily calculating. “Sure it can. I’m just using the wrong method.”
I don’t like the sound of that, or the look on his face. “What does that mean?”
His expression clears and he offers me a smile, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “Don’t you worry about it, princess.”
I want to worry about it. I feel like I need to worry about it. But then he stops talking and starts using his body against me. Before I know it, I’m too busy being driven out of my mind with pleasure to worry about anything.
* * *
When most boys screw up, they send flowers.
Carter sends chaos.
I try to ignore the reality at first. Sunday morning at church when everyone is talking about the terrible vandalizing of Luke’s car last night, I pray with every ounce of faith inside me that Carter wasn’t involved. I’m sure he wasn’t out there using a bat to bust out the windows and slashing all four tires himself, but he very well could have sent someone to do his dirty work for him.
He wouldn’t, though. He wouldn’t. It’s an uncomfortable coincidence, that’s all.
Still, I can’t help feeling responsible.
When church lets out, I head to work. It’s a slow night, being a Sunday, but that gives me a chance to check up on Carter. I probably shouldn’t persist in cyber stalking him now that we’re over and I’m the one insisting we are never getting back together, but I tell myself I’m looking for any sign of incriminating evidence. I don’t actually expect to find anything, but my heart stalls when the most recent update reads, “Oops. I broke it.”
My heart thuds and my gaze jumps to the accompanying picture. It’s a picture of a pink Barbie doll car in Chloe’s playroom. The door is crooked and falling off, and Chloe has a hand propped on her hip, mean-mugging the hell out of the camera.
My jaw drops open and I close the app, pulling up my messages so I can yell at him. I don’t know if I want to yell at him for breaking Chloe’s toy first, or for Luke.
“You are a psycho!”
I push send before I can overthink it. He must have his phone close by, because he’s texting me back a few seconds later. “Me? No. You must have the wrong number.”
“Did you break Chloe’s car?” I demand.
“Yeah, but I bought her a new, better car. It’s all good now.” He sends an accompanying photo of Chloe grinning with her stylish new Barbie car to prove it.
“And Luke? Are you buying him a new car?” I ask, my hands shaking with anger.
“Why would I buy Luke a new car?” he returns.
“This is NOT the way to get me back,” I tell him.
“You sure?” he replies.
I’m too angry to talk to him and a customer is approaching the counter anyway, so I put the phone away. I ring that person out as quickly and politely as I can, but I can’t stop thinking about Carter. I pull my phone out as soon as the customer walks away and read Carter’s message.
“Maybe Luke shouldn’t touch other people’s toys, then they wouldn’t touch his.”
My eyes all but bulge out of my head. I send back in all caps, “Luke never touched me! He is a friend, nothing more. But you’re less than that, so stop terrorizing him and leave me alone.”
“You wound me, princess.”
“I wish,” I shoot back. “I wish I could wound you, Carter.”
Chapter 46
Vengeance normally is not my thing, but after tossing and turning all night long, wracked with guilt, I have the perfectly crafted “fuck you” to Carter by the time I get to school on Monday.
I buzz through all my morning classes, waiting for the moment when I’ll be able to irritate Carter. I’ve gone back and forth, afraid that giving him a response will cause the behavior to worsen, but at the end of the day, I think I can control the fire. I have zero doubt that I will piss Carter off, but if he tries to take it out on Luke again, I will stand up to him. I will redirect his wrath to me and deal with his temper myself—I am the one it should be directed at anyway. I’m the idiot who made up a fake boyfriend on impulse to begin with, I just never expected Carter to believe it so vehemently.
When history rolls around, the sight of Carter gets me jitt
ery, ramps up my pulse. It’s strange how the sight of him excites all my senses even now, when he’s being so awful I want to punch him in the face.
Friday night after he made love to me, we cuddled on the couch for a little while. Afterward, he took $200 out of his wallet and gave it to me for the babysitting. I stared at the excess of cash for a moment, wondering if I should change my career plans and become a full-time babysitter, then his ulterior motive presented itself. He told me now that I have some extra cash I didn’t plan on having, I could buy myself that homecoming dress and be his date, after all.
How convenient.
It was sneaky and Carter-like enough that it made me smile. As much as I hate the idea of spending all that money on a dress I will wear one time to a dance I don’t even want to go to, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him no.
Now I can.
I expect him to linger and hassle me on our way out of class, but Carter only shoots me a wink as he walks past and heads out by himself.
The dumb part of me is disappointed by his lack of attention, but the overwhelming majority of me is relieved. It’s harder to try to hurt his feelings when I’m exposed to him at all. He has a way of melting away my defenses, no matter how angry I am at him, no matter how justified that anger is.
It’s a daunting walk from my locker to the cafeteria, but after dumping my books in my locker, that’s where I head. Dread fills me at the mere sight of the open double doors, at the buzz of chatter coming from within.
I don’t want to go in there. Stopping just short of entering, I take one more fortifying breath, then I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and march through the doors.
I guess the nice thing about the cafeteria is nothing much ever changes. Even being absent from the lunch room for so many weeks, everything is more or less the same. The same groups of kids sitting at the same tables—especially the popular tables. The jocks and the cheerleaders. They may as well have their names stamped on the tables and their accompanying benches, because even if they were all absent one day, no one would dare sit in their places.
