by Mariah Dietz
He turns, his eyes black as the dim light from the yard shines on his dark irises and anger. “And this is you pulling the pin?”
I nod, my chest heavy as I meet his stare. A myriad of emotions reflects back at me, causing a tangle of words that I don’t have the energy to unravel to stick in my throat.
I push open the door before I lose my nerve, letting the chill of the night consume me as I walk toward the house, unscrewing the lid on the water bottle Poppy had shoved into my hands before leaving the restaurant. I take a long drink —the alcohol’s burn a welcome discomfort as I let it clear my thoughts like a disinfectant.
18
Lincoln
“Tell me there’s more than just flat beer,” I say, brushing past Pax and Arlo to get to the table where cups are stacked around puddles of beer.
“I saw Poppy tuck that bottle of booze in her purse,” Pax offers, taking another drink from his red Solo cup.
“Bad night?” Arlo asks.
“Did you check their freezer?” I ask, dismissing his question.
Paxton nods. “Frozen dinners and ice.”
I roll my shoulders, my skin too tight, and my thoughts too heavy. If I were at the gym, I’d crank up the fucking treadmill and run until my muscles were so fatigued I couldn’t think about her anymore.
Instead, I’m stuck here because I’m a masochist and can’t force myself to leave when Raegan comes into view. She notices me as well, her gaze stopping over every face except mine.
She smiles.
She laughs.
She engages in conversation and leans closer to each stranger.
She’s trying to forget me.
Erase me.
Meanwhile, I’m left feeling lost in her and what we shared.
What we could have had.
I grab the glass Paxton just filled with beer and swallow its contents before refilling it and downing a second.
Pax looks at me, eyebrows raised with question. “Did I miss something?”
“I’m going to go find a distraction,” I tell him.
Arlo trails me like a shadow, grabbing my arm when I don’t slow down. “This is a one-eighty,” he says.
I shrug him off. “She invited Derek.” The words don’t seem to mean anything as he stares at me blankly. “She doesn’t even want to be friends. I’m done with this shit.”
Arlo moves, checking me like a blocker. “That’s probably for the better because this would get complicated and messy and all kinds of fucked up, but…” He levels me with a glance that lacks the usual note of humor he always possesses. “She doesn’t seem like the forgiving type. If you fuck around with somebody, you’re not going to stand a chance.”
I nod. “She already made that choice.” I drop my shoulder, but before I get the satisfaction of clipping him, Arlo moves, leaving me to my own devices.
“Have you seen Rae?”
“I’m not a babysitter,” I remind Paxton, keeping my back to him as the girl in front of me presses her ass more firmly against my groin. It’s been less than two hours since Raegan officially quit me, and like any bad habit, I’m already looking for a new host.
“Dude. I need to find Rae.” He grips my shoulder. “Like now.”
“I’m kind of busy here.” The last chick who came to talk it up with me tried suffocating me with a kiss that tasted of throw up and was so forceful, it made my bottom lip bleed. This new girl is a huge step up, and she’s clearly interested in one thing and one thing only: my dick.
I deserve this, especially since Paxton is the reason I’m going through this, thanks to this distraction of epic proportions called his little sister. In front of me, the girl runs a hand down my thigh, pulling every ounce of my attention in her direction.
“Lincoln,” Pax barks my name, his patience thinning.
I spin to face him, my annoyance evolving into anger. The last thing I want to do is find Raegan. Right now, I need to release these fantasies I’ve been having of her with some other chick so I can go back to seeing her as an asexual being. “She’s probably having fun. It’s her birthday. You should try—” My words come to an abrupt stop as I notice his eyes are wide and bright, a heavy crease marring his brow as he scopes the room. I know this look, but not well. After all, Pax is usually laid back and easy going—concern isn’t something we spend a lot of time with. But right now, it’s apparent something has him worried.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Drugs?” We went to a party last year where someone had spiked the keg with Molly. It was a dick move that led to an investigation and later an arrest. Four girls were raped, and several couldn’t remember the night. The memory of that night never veers too far from my thoughts when we go out.
He shakes his head with a tight jerk, then flicks his thumb over the screen of his phone and hands it to me.
‘Dean Lawson caught with his pants down.’ The headline reads below a video of Dr. Lawson getting a blowie by a woman who is most definitely not Mrs. Lawson.
The video replays several times on a loop. It’s a grainy black and white image, but it’s definitely Dr. Lawson. “Oh shit.”
“It was emailed to the entire student body,” he says. “I need to find Rae.”
I quickly nod my understanding. “Okay, you go check out the front, I’ll circle around the back.”
The house is filled with people, everyone in denial that the weekend is coming to an end. A girl calls my name, but I keep moving, searching for Rae’s gray top.
“President! Smile!” An arm wraps around the back of my neck, and a phone appears in my face, showing my reflection beside a girl with bright blonde hair. The phone flashes, and the girl smacks a kiss to my cheek before moving on. I don’t watch where she retreats to or wonder who she’s going to share my picture with—this is becoming my new norm.
I see her then. Blonde hair, gray shirt, a calculating expression as Derek laughs at something she’s said.
Fucking hell.
I lie to myself and say obligation and friendship are what has my pace quickening, the energy in my chest growing and expanding, reminding me of what it’s like to be on the field when we’re down, and I know the game is resting on my shoulders. The embers in my chest start to burn brighter as well, a concoction that has my adrenaline pumping.
Derek turns as I get near, his smile falling into a frown as he pulls both shoulders back. “Beckett,” he says. He’s one of the few who calls me by my last name rather than my moniker. Behind him, Raegan cringes as her eyes dance across the room, returning to me before she shakes her head. Her pupils are dilated, and her cheeks are flushed, making that energy in my chest expand further. She stares at me, allowing me to briefly study the light hue of her blue eyes.
“Do you need something?” Derek asks. “Water? A ride home? Some fucking pride, maybe?”
I step closer. “Get the hell out of my way.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he says, smiling with so much malice and intent I want to haul off and punch him. I’m ready for it—consequences be damned—but then Rae shakes her head again, this time in defeat rather than a warning, and she walks away.
“Rae,” I call, but she doesn’t stop.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you. How obvious does she need to be?” Derek taunts.
I spin around so fast on him, he flinches, expecting my fist. “Stay the fuck away from her. I’m not going to tell you again.”
“Or what?” he snarls.
Threats dance along my tongue, each one uglier than the last. “You almost got her killed. You want redemption? Move the fuck on. I beat your ass on the field every fucking game, and that’s been enough, but if you push this—you keep trying to insert yourself into her life—I’ll fucking ruin you.”
I don’t give him the chance to respond. I have nothing left to say.
I find Rae near the kitchen, sending a message to someone. “You ready to go?” I ask.
She starts to shake her head. “I thought we agreed we wer
en’t going to do this?”
“We did, but—"
“Rae!” Poppy appears, her face split with a smile. She’s definitely drunk as she stumbles to a stop and hiccups, her entire body moving from the action. Raegan laughs, reaching forward to steady her. “Are you okay?”
Poppy nods. “I’m great. Where have you been?”
Rae hitches her thumb behind her, in the wrong direction of where I just found her.
A guy appears behind Poppy. He’s wearing a pair of skinny jeans pulled so high I’m not sure he has a ball sack and is wearing a black tee that’s equally as tight with a backward baseball hat. He eyes me, his brows raised with a silent challenge.
I can’t hide my scoff. The emo looks like a dickless tool.
“Rae, this is Ricky. Ricky, this is my best friend, Rae.”
“You have a dude’s name.” he says, shaking her hand.
“It’s short for Raegan,” she tells him.
Emo shrugs. “Wasn’t Raegan a dude?”
Poppy laughs. “I’m named after a narcotic.”
Rae looks unsettled for half a second, but Poppy eyes me, and her smile broadens. “Lincoln! What are you doing? Are you here to talk with Rae?”
I glance at Rae as she withdraws the same damn water bottle from Poppy’s purse and takes a long drink. Poppy yells what sounds like a battle cry, then reaches for the bottle.
“Lincoln, this is Ricky,” Poppy gives me the same introduction. “Isn’t he cute?”
I can’t tell who she’s posing the question to, but I offer my hand. It’s not intended to be a challenge, simply manners, but douche face tries to show me he’s tough by squeezing my hand as hard as he can. Dude doesn’t realize I squeeze fucking tennis balls for a couple of hours every day to strengthen my grip. I constrict my hold, smiling because I could easily break a couple of fingers, and he likely doesn’t have a clue. He doesn’t reciprocate the smile, but he also doesn’t try anacondaing my hand anymore.
“I’m going to go find something to drink? You want anything?” He looks to Poppy.
She shakes her head, smiling at him.
I consider threatening him. Warn him that he better come back and at least part ways amicably rather than make a dumbass excuse, but she’s standing too close to not overhear.
“I don’t think he’s coming back,” Rae says, standing on her toes, watching emo walk away.
“Who? Ricky?” Poppy asks. Rae nods. Poppy folds her hand with a dismissive wave. “I hope not. I told you, I’m not looking for a boyfriend, just fun.”
Rae stifles a giggle. “Well, did you have some fun?”
“Kind of…” Poppy’s nose scrunches. “Not really. We got to third base, and I learned he didn’t have any idea what he was doing.” She giggles again.
My eyes go wide, and I nearly choke on air. This was not the conversation I was expecting to hear. Not from Poppy, not ever.
“…but, he used his finger like a plunger. I don’t think he had any idea what he was doing, and his nails were too long.”
A pronounced frown covers Rae’s face. “That’s gross. I shook his hand!” She wipes her hand across her jeans.
“If you think about it, pretty much every person here has probably touched something tonight.”
Rae wipes her hand again.
I have no fucking clue what to say at this point. Hearing the two discuss foreplay just depletes more of that failing screen that I’ve been clinging to. Plus, I’m supposed to be finding Rae and getting her the hell out of dodge because the longer we’re here, the greater the chance of others watching that video and saying something becomes.
“Can we mark this night as a success then and go? I’m starving, and I have to wake up early for practice tomorrow.”
Rae turns toward me, but her gaze doesn’t meet mine. “Poppy drove my car. You guys can go whenever you want.”
“You two are blitzed. You can’t drive anywhere.”
“Hardly. I’ll be fine in like an hour.” She turns her attention toward a group of people playing beer pong. She taps Poppy on the arm and points at the game. It’s all guys. I recognize a couple from the basketball team and one from a class.
“We should—”
I don’t allow her to finish the suggestion that they go play. Not with those drunk bastards who only have one idea in their brains. My shoulder hits her in the stomach like I’m going to pile drive her, but I lift her over my shoulder in one fell swoop, grabbing her arm as an anchor. “Poppy, door.”
Poppy giggles. “She’s going to bite you. She fights dirty.”
“I was hoping she would.”
19
Raegan
Fantasies tangle with indignation as Lincoln strolls through the crowds of people, my ass in the air and my face smothered by his T-shirt and the scent of his cologne—spicy and somehow fresh like the ocean—and laundry detergent—clean and crisp. With each of his strides, the scents hit me like a drug, pulling me deeper into previous fantasies where I imagined myself drowning in this scent and his hot skin.
A guy whoops. “Yeah, President!” Reminding me why my indignation is fighting to be heard.
“What are you doing? Put me down!” My voice is deeper, constricted because his shoulder—which feels far too broad and big—digs into my stomach, making breathing a chore. “Lincoln!”
“Go, President!” Another guy yells.
“I’m not…” I yell, trying to look for whomever just cheered Lincoln on, prepared to tell them this isn’t at all what it looks like.
“Was that necessary?” I hear Paxton ask as we clear the front door.
“She wants to stay. Should I put her down?” Lincoln’s voice is deeper with my ear against his back. “Pinky and the Brain are blitzed, by the way,” Lincoln adds.
“I’m buzzed. There’s a difference, you jackass.” My voice sounds too similar to a prepubescent boy to sound threatening. “We need to discuss your choice in friends,” I tell Paxton as Lincoln lowers me to the ground.
Pax doesn’t even crack a smile. “Let’s grab some burgers, and then you can sleep this off.”
“You guys are acting like we’re wasted,” Poppy says, offense coating her words. “We’re not even drunk.” She hiccups again, lifting her thumb and forefinger to create a small gap. “Well, maybe a little. But we talked about this. You guys were in. Fun night. Let loose. Remember any of these words?”
Pax runs his hand down his face, cutting a glance at Lincoln before looking at me. “We need to go. Something’s come up.”
I stop, focusing on my brother’s face. The way his eyes keep bounding across the yard, the crease marring his brow, the deep frown that makes him look much older. “Maggie?”
He shakes his head, and my lungs fill with air as relief soars through me.
“But we still need to go.”
“Birthday?” Poppy asks, a pleading slur that confirms she’s had too much to drink.
Pax’s jaw grows tight as he looks across the yard where a group of people are laughing. “We need to go,” he repeats.
“Okay,” I concede. “But why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“I will. Let’s just get to my house. Come on.”
“What about the others?” I ask.
“Caleb already caught a ride home, and Arlo drove.” He tips his head in the direction of the road, and I stop questioning him.
I grip Poppy’s elbow, starting in the direction of where she’d parked my car.
“This was a great party,” she says. “Are you sure you want to go? We could tell them we’ll meet them later.”
I glance at Paxton, a dozen feet behind us, his face grim as he shoves his phone into his pocket. “I think something’s wrong.” The words feel like a lie because I know something is wrong as the panic in me rises like a tide, washing other possibilities of what has Pax so upset out of the way.
Poppy pokes me with her elbow. “I think Lincoln’s definitely not over you. I know you’re probably not in
the place to appreciate it yet, but him carrying you out was really hot.”
I cling to my concerns in self-preservation as I glance at her, tears burning my eyes as I recall seeing him just an hour ago with a glazed expression and the girl who quickly replaced me. The significance of his previous words blowing away in the breeze. “He was making out with someone tonight.”
Poppy comes to a quick stop, nearly making me trip. “What?”
“Veer left!” Pax yells before I can reply to her shock.
“I’m over this way,” I tell him.
“You can’t drive. You’re weaving.”
“I’m fine. I’m in heels on gravel.” I have little doubt that I could drive us home, what little alcohol is still flowing through my system is barley keeping me warm.
“Don’t be difficult,” Pax says, catching up with us because we’re still stopped, Poppy, trying to digest my news about Lincoln. “Just ride with us.”
I pull out my phone, ready to schedule a Lyft because I can’t be in a car with Lincoln. Not now. But before I can complete the request, Lincoln approaches, his gaze heavy and intentional. In one second he’s grabbing my phone, and in the next, he’s dropping it into his pocket.
“What are you doing?” I cry, my eyes slashing over him.
“Look,” Pax says, running a hand over his jaw again. “Shit is about to hit the fan. Let’s go back to my place. You guys can have my room.”
I have to swallow the urge to say ‘ew’ because though Pax and I are close, there are limits. “I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me. What’s going on? And why would I stay at your place when I can go home?”
“Damn, look at the dean getting his!” The words make me pause, and then lean back on my heels, working to replay the words again and again and again.
Did he say dean? Bean? Dean, like a friend named Dean?
Someone laughs, another giggles—the sound pitched and breathy. “Can you believe he had sex in his office? That has to be against the rules, right? Does that mean we get, like, a vacation or something?”
