Tell Me When

by Stina Lindenblatt

  My face heats at the implication that I have a thing for him just like every other girl. “Not that there’s much to say, other than you’re helping me with my math,” I clarify.

  Marcus’s friend joins us and hands Jordan a drink similar to what Marcus gave me. Which means the guys are either older than they look, or they have fake IDs.

  “Hi.” He extends his hand to me and I take it. “I’m Chase. Marcus’s roommate and friend, and the guy who’s much smarter than him when it comes to math.” Adorable dimples spring to life.

  Laughing, Marcus slaps him on the shoulder. “You wish.”

  “Do you guys come here often?” Jordan asks, the other guys long forgotten.

  “Yes,” Chase says at the same moment Marcus answers, “No”.

  Jordan looks back and forth between them. “So, which is it?”

  “We’ve come here a few times, but it’s not our regular hangout,” Marcus amends.

  A new song comes on and Jordan sways to the beat while she glances longingly at the dance floor. I open my mouth to ask her if she wants to dance but Chase beats me to it. At her “yes,” he leads her onto the floor. He’s not as good a dancer as she is, but he holds his own. More so than most of the guys pretending to strut their stuff.

  Jordan loops her arms around Chase’s neck and grinds her hips against his. I laugh at his expression. Jordan has no idea what she’s doing to him.

  I’m not the only one to laugh at his reaction. Marcus chuckles, and just like that we start talking, mostly about our classes and about some of the crazy stuff we’ve seen around campus. Nothing personal, though. After he abruptly changed topics when I asked why he’s studying engineering, I got the sense he prefers to keep up a wall. But other than that, talking to him somehow isn’t as intimidating as I thought it would be.

  It’s pretty easy, actually.

  I don’t know how long we’ve been chatting when Marcus glances over my shoulder, for a moment lost in thought. He then closes the space between us, so less than a foot separates us. His hand strokes up and down my hip, molding to my body. He lowers his lips to my ear. “If we’re gonna convince everyone you’re off limits, we need to do more than just stand here and talk. Unless you want people thinking I’m your cousin.”

  I swallow hard. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Maybe this....” He brushes his fingertips against my neck and moves my hair back, exposing my skin. His head drops and his warm lips teasingly caress my neck.

  Fortunately if Jordan sees him kissing me, she won’t clue into what’s really going on. She’ll think we’re hooking up after bumping into each other here.

  Or at least I hope that’s what she’ll think.

  His tongue flicks against the skin he just kissed. I jerk away.

  Relax. Trent used to do that all the time and you never freaked out.

  “Whoa, Kitten. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not that asshole from the party.”

  “I know. It’s just...it’s just....” My voice fades away, drowned out by the music.

  “It’s just what?”

  I shake my head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  Encouraged by my response, Marcus leans in and his lips meet mine, softly, sweetly. But he’s not satisfied enough with that. His lips try to pry mine open.

  His mouth presses against mine, hurting me, violating me. I want to scream for him to stop. But that’ll make things worse. He always punishes me when I resist.

  My body tenses, heart beating loud and fast, breath equally fast and shallow. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, fighting against the memory.

  Marcus pulls away and searches my face. “It’s okay, Kitten. I swear I’m not going to hurt you.” His fingers brush against my cheek. “You’re safe.”

  I can tell from his expression he wants to ask who the hell hurt me. I don’t want to tell him. This is my secret.

  My secret. I almost laugh at the irony. The truth was on the evening news for several days after it happened. Amber Alerts were issued. My name was splashed across newspapers and the news channels. The girl who for months had been the victim of a terrifying stalker before she was kidnapped.

  But once I was found and details of my kidnapping were made public, my name magically disappeared from the news reports. I became a nameless seventeen-year-old girl, a victim of horrific acts of violence. But everyone in my town knew the news reports referred to me, even if the rest of world no longer did.

  People from Crossfields may know what happened, but Marcus doesn’t. And I want it to stay that way.

  “I’m fine,” I say as an idea plays out in my head. Paul was the last man who kissed me. I’ve got my life back, but I need more. Marcus is my chance for more, in a safe way. Besides, I can’t think of a better candidate for the position. He’s got to be a great kisser. Girls tend not to get all hot over guys with a reputation of being a bad kisser, right? And if I’m going to take back what Paul stole from me, what better place than to do it here, with Marcus? I mean, isn’t that what I’m paying him for? Kind of.

  “You’re right,” I say. “If we’re gonna do this right, you need to kiss me.”

  Eyes narrowed, Marcus studies my face for a second, as if trying to read my mind, then his lips touch mine, again, as his arms wrap around my waist. He doesn’t push me further and I’m able to relax into him.

  Gaining a little more confidence from not flashing back to Paul this time, I run the tip of my tongue against Marcus’s lower lip. He parts his lips and lets me tentatively explore the inside of his mouth. I focus on his spicy scent and on his strong body against mine. A body that’s nothing like Paul’s.

  A kiss that’s nothing like Paul’s.

  Unlike Paul’s kisses, Marcus’s kiss is hot, but I can tell, like me, he’s just going through the motions. He’s not really present in the moment. A side effect of being a man-whore, I guess.

  I continue kissing him and feel something stir deep. I quickly stamp it down as I pull away. A subtle taste of victory courses through me. My experiment, a success.

  “You wanna dance?” Marcus asks, arms still around my waist. Jordan and Chase are on the dance floor, laughing and dancing to the fast beat. Both are tall and can be easily seen over most people, which is just as well since the floor’s packed.

  “Okay.” Crowds don’t bother me. It’s being alone that scares me.

  We squeeze our way through the mass of bodies until we reach our friends. Jordan grins and hugs me then goes back to dancing with Chase. Marcus wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer. My arms instinctively go around his neck. Our bodies press together.

  I don’t dare look at Jordan. I can sense she’s watching me. I can also tell she’s reading way too much into what’s happening. And for the second time since I came up with my plan, I wonder if I made a mistake. Now she’ll be excited for me, especially since I’m not going home with Marcus, which makes me different from most girls he knows. Especially because he’s my tutor, so it’s not like this is the last time I’ll see him. Especially because she wants something to happen between Marcus and me, since she figures that will make my life complete.

  Practically yelling to be heard over the pulsating beat, I ask, “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t your kind of music?” Chase seems to fit in with the place. Marcus doesn’t.

  “I prefer rock music, not this dance crap.”

  “I don’t mind it, but give me bands like Nickelback and Bon Jovi and then we’re talking. And I love Aerosmith, even if the band looks a hundred years old.”

  Marcus laughs. “So none of those guys make you want to rip your shirt off?”

  “I wouldn’t rip my shirt off for any musician. Doesn’t matter if he’s my age or sixty.”

  Marcus’s lips move to my ear. “Well, for the record, I like those band
s too. And for the record, some guy’s fucking you with his eyes.” His voice sounds odd and I wonder if there really is a guy watching me, or if he just said that to cop a feel. “You’re okay, Amber,” he says softly. “I won’t let him touch you.” He looks in my eyes and I see for a brief moment a familiar pain staring back. A pain I’ve seen reflected in the mirror.

  I don’t want him to think that we’re playing by his rules, but this time, as his mouth moves along my jaw, I don’t flinch. And inwardly I high-five myself for not freaking out, and for once again being able to enjoy the moment a little.

  But just as I think his reputation as a man-whore is overrated, he murmurs in my ear, “God, you look fuckable in that dress.”

  Figures.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marcus

  Last night while Kitten and I danced, all I wanted to do was to protect her. The way she responded when I first kissed her confirmed she’s been damaged, and I don’t think it was the guy I hit at the party who’s at fault. He never had a chance to kiss her before I nailed him in the face.

  But I screwed things up. She went from being vulnerable in my arms to this stone princess now sitting next to me in the food court. I’ve never responded to a girl the way I did with Amber, and my reaction scared me. I’ve always managed to keep up my wall with most people, and use girls purely for entertainment. That, and to prove to myself I’m a normal guy.

  I’m not a complete ass where girls are concerned. I don’t treat them badly, and they know where they stand with me. Sex is a one-time deal. Any more than that and girls think you want a commitment. I thought Tammara was different, that we shared an understanding. I was wrong.

  When I agreed to Amber’s plan, I thought it would be an easy fifty bucks. That I could walk away from last night fifty dollars closer to my goal, with no second thoughts or regrets. But then I talked to her—really talked to her—and I kissed her and listened to her talk about music. And I realized something.

  Amber has gotten under my skin.

  And I have to escape. I can’t afford to get close to anyone. I failed my brother and I’m afraid of failing Alejandro. I don’t want to risk failing anyone else, too.

  Kitten deserves to be loved by someone who deserves her in return. That person is not me. My mother taught me that.

  I didn’t want to be a jerk last night. I wanted to be Amber’s hero, someone who made her feel safe. But in the end, I did what I had to do, and I pissed her off.

  Pushing away the emptiness worming its way in, I work through the first question of Amber’s math assignment with her, explaining each step while trying to ignore her strawberry-scented hair. As if that’s even possible. That scent has found its way into my dreams, and with Kitten next to me, it reminds me of the most vivid ones. The ones where we both end up naked. In my bed.

  Groaning inwardly at the way my dick responds to the mere thought of those dreams, I ask, “How can you tell you’re in the hands of the Mathematical Mafia?”

  Her warm brown eyes sparkle in amusement, like they always do when she knows I’m about to tell her a math joke, even though she knows it’s going to be lame. “I don’t know. How do you tell?”

  “They make you an offer that you can’t understand.”

  She laughs, the sound of it as warm as her eyes. I grin at the thought of how she’s the first person to laugh at my jokes, and go back to helping her with her assignment.

  By the third question, Amber’s fingers start tapping rhythmically against her thigh.

  I touch her hand. “Why do you do that?”

  Her fingers curl into a ball. “It’s nothing. I used to play basketball, and my boyfriend always joked that I would dribble against my leg whenever I was nervous, or when I wanted to play but couldn’t.” Her cheeks redden and a faint smile crosses her face.

  Irritation that she has a boyfriend gnaws at me. I shove it away. I have no right to feel that way. “Your boyfriend’s name is Trent, right?” I ask, taking a wild guess.

  Color vanishes from her face and for a moment I’m positive she’s going to run. “How did you know?” she asks, voice cracking. Moisture builds in her eyes.

  “I saw a picture of you with him.” Shit, I hope he’s not the guy who hurt her. “Since you asked me to pretend to be your boyfriend, I guess he doesn’t live in Chicago, right?”

  She shakes her head and the tears she was holding back break free. She turns her head away and wipes them with her fingers.

  A few students walking past glance our way, and it’s obvious from their expressions they think the tears are my fault. I’m the shithead boyfriend who dumped his girlfriend in the middle of the food court.

  That’s when I get it. Her boyfriend doesn’t live in Chicago, because she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Those people were right. She has been dumped, just not by me.

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Amber. I didn’t realize you guys had broken up.”

  “We didn’t break up.” She takes a halting breath, and her next words come out as a pained whisper. “He’s dead.”

  Okay, not what I expected. Without thinking of the consequences, I gather her in my arms and let her cry against my shoulder. Another brick in my wall crumbles at the feel of her in my arms. I tighten my hold and kiss the top of her head. If I’m not careful, I’m going to end up permanently fucked up. But right now, there’s nothing I want more than to erase her pain.

  Except, I have no idea how to do that. All I’m good at is making girls scream in bed, but right now that skill’s pretty useless.

  Her cries eventually slow to soft hiccupping and she sits up. “I’m sorry. I made a mess of your T-shirt.”

  “I don’t care about that. You wanna talk about what happened to your boyfriend?” I don’t want to, but I can’t leave things the way they are in case she does. I have a feeling I’m the first person she’s told here that her boyfriend is dead, that even Jordan doesn’t know. She’s been holding back her emotions for a long time, not wanting anyone to see her like this. I can relate.

  “I’d rather not, thanks.” She grabs a tissue from her backpack and blows her nose, then walks to the nearby garbage and tosses the dirty tissue in like it’s a basketball.

  And that gives me an idea. “Grab your stuff. We’re going somewhere.”

  She looks at me for a second, confused, then packs up her books and notes, and follows me to my car.

  The blue sky from earlier has clouded over and it looks like it could storm later on. But for now, it’s perfect for what I want to do. I open the car door for her but she doesn’t get in. She chews her lip while eyeing the passenger seat as though it’s planning to attack her.

  “I promise, Kitten, I’m not going to hurt you. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but I think you’ll enjoy where we’re going.”

  “Where’s that?” She looks at the sky, a slight tremor in her voice.

  I interlace her fingers with mine. “It’s a surprise.”

  Her hand starts shaking. “I don’t like surprises.” Her voice is so small, I get the feeling it’s not me she’s telling this to, but I can’t tell if she’s talking to herself or if, in her mind, she’s telling it to someone else.

  “Amber, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I’m just taking you to my old neighborhood. If you want, you can ask Jordan to come with us.” I don’t want Jordan along, but if that makes Amber feel safer, then I’m willing to do whatever’s necessary.

  Amber looks at me, really looks at me, her gaze searching for signs that I’m lying. “I’m fine. I’ll come with you.” Her other hand tightens around her backpack strap. If I make the wrong move, I wouldn’t be surprised if she nails me in the face with the bag.

  She climbs into the car, but doesn’t say anything else as I drive. Instead, she stares out the passenger window at the sky. I can tell she’s n
ot fully with me. Maybe she’s thinking about her old boyfriend. I don’t have the right to feel jealous, but I can’t help it and that scares me. And what’s there to feel jealous about? Her boyfriend, who I guess she loved, is dead. It’s only natural she’d be thinking about him. I think about Ryan all the time, too.

  I drive through the city to my old neighborhood. It’s nothing like where Amber would have grown up. Here, neighbors party until sunrise and drug busts are the norm. I’m betting Amber’s never been harassed by a cop and gangs don’t hang out near her home.

  I glance at her, gauging her reaction, but her attention is still focused on the world outside her window.

  “What is this place?” she asks as I park the car in the small gravel parking lot behind the youth center.

  “It’s where I spent most of my time growing up. It’s where I learned to play basketball.”

  Her head twists around, and for the first time since I mentioned her old boyfriend’s name, her face lights up. “You play?”

  I grin at her reaction. “It’s what kept me out of trouble.” Most of the time.

  We enter the old brick building and I instantly know something’s wrong. At this time of day, kids are usually playing basketball or hanging out in the rec room. Instead, it’s quiet.

  Fear at what that could mean sucker punches me in the gut.

  “Hey, Marcus,” Dave says from the doorway of his office, a basketball in each hand. He tosses one at me and nods at Amber. “Miss.” I’ve never brought a girl here before so I can only imagine what he’s thinking.

  “Dave, this is Amber. She’s a friend of mine from school.” I turn to Kitten. “Dave’s the youth leader here. But don’t let his hardcore Marine ass fool you. He’s a marshmallow where the ladies are concerned.” He snorts. The only lady in his life is his wife. His world, when he’s not here, revolves around her. “So where is everyone?”

  “There was another gang shooting the other day. Funeral’s today.”

  My heart stops beating for what feels like an entire minute and I reach for Amber’s hand. As if sensing what I need, she squeezes it. “Who?” And why didn’t I know this?