by Angel Lawson
“Better than mystery casserole?”
She laughs. “You have no idea.”
Our toes touch under the table and neither of us makes an effort to move them, and although I know my stomach pains are from hunger, some of it is from having her so close.
“I missed this,” I tell her after swallowing a bite of steaming hot lasagna.
“What? Dinner?”
“Having you at my house.”
“Not much has changed.” She looks around until her eyes settle on me. “Well, other than the fact you’ve grown two feet and put on fifty pounds of muscle.”
I’m irrationally proud that she’s noticed. I worked hard to get in shape and transformed my body from skinny and fast, to far more muscular, and strong.
“Well, you’re not the same girl either.” I don’t comment on the changes, but my eyes wander down to that tight sweater. Cool it bro.
“You still eat like a pig,” she declares, shaking her head. “Always hungry.”
I don’t deny it, just grab the last piece of bread and take a big bite. It makes her laugh, and I tear it in half, offering it to her.
“Thank you,” she says, taking the buttery bread, and I watch her eat it, feeling like a lovesick loser. I can’t tell her—I can’t tell anyone—but the way I feel about Kenley is completely different than I felt about Rose.
Maybe one day.
We finish dinner and clean up the mess.
“Want some ice cream?” I ask, remembering it’s her favorite. “Mom has a whole stash. She calls it her guilty pleasure. That along with reality TV.”
“Sure,” she says. “Are the bowls up on the top shelf?”
I start to grab a few options from the freezer but stop. Kenley likes one kind of ice cream over the other. Peanut butter and chocolate. I grab the tub and say, “I can get them—”
She’s already pushed up and is on her knees, giving me an excellent view of her backside. Then another when she reaches for the shelf, revealing a strip of the soft, pale flesh of her stomach. She grabs two and looks down, handing them both to me.
Her eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“I told you,” I say, feeling heat warm my cheeks. “I like having you here.”
She eases down and sits on the counter. I get a spoon and scoop out the ice cream and put it in the bowls. I pick up one, hold it between us, and offer her the spoon. She takes it from me and eats a spoonful, licking her lips.
I laugh darkly and reach for my own bowl.
Again, she asks, “What?”
“I promised myself tonight would be dinner and studying. No fooling around.”
She takes another bite of ice cream. “Exactly why did you come up with that decision?”
I lean next to her. “Because I want you to know this is more than just me being attracted to you—which, for the record, I am. I respect you Kenley. I like you. And everything between is mired in convoluted history, as well as a lot of other complications, that make this move both way too fast, and way too slow, at the same time. I don’t feel like I’ve apologized enough—accepted the responsibility for my own actions in what happened between us. I was stupid, and if I could take it all back, I would.”
She touches my chin and holds my eye. “I’ve waited years for you to say something like that.” Her warm thumb runs across my cold bottom lip. “And I accept your apology. We all screwed up, and lost time, and have regrets.”
Can you want a girl too much? Scare her off? Move too fast? Hell yeah, you can. I’m not blowing this a second time.
“How about this,” I say, searching for a compromise. “I give you a kiss now, and then another before you go home.”
She tilts her head and licks the back of her spoon. It’s like she’s trying to shatter my resolve. “How about you kiss me now and before I go home, and after every homework problem we get done?”
“I have like fifty problems in math.”
Her eyebrow raises. “Then we probably need to get started.”
She sets her bowl down on the counter and touches my shoulder, guiding me to stand in front of her. Her legs part and I step between them, moving my hands on either side of her, knowing if I touch her, absolutely zero studying will get done. She doesn’t care, because her hands link behind my neck and she tugs on my hair, sending a shiver down my spine. I bend forward, brushing my lips over hers, tasting the chocolate on her mouth, the peanut butter on her tongue. She tastes like the girl I used to know—the one I want to know better, in every possible way.
16
Kenley
I leave Finn’s before either of our parents get home from the rally and walk up the stairs to my room. “Walk” isn’t the right word. Floated may be better. Finn didn’t quite finish all fifty of those math problems, but he gave it a shot.
A quick glance in the mirror confirms my puffy, abused-looking lips, while my cheeks are flushed, just like every other inch of my body. All it takes is a good kiss to light my skin on fire, and Finn is a very good kisser.
I close the curtains and undress, sliding into bed. I hear the notification alert vibrate the iPod in the bedside table drawer. I’d avoided it as long as possible. I open the drawer and pull it out.
Again, there are dozens of messages from sugar daddies trying for a meet up. I delete them all, swiping them all in the trash. My heart pounds when I get to a new one from BD. He must have liked my last message. I know I need to stop this, but I can’t. He may be the only one with answers.
BD: It was a nice surprise to hear back from you—wasn’t sure if you’d reply. Punctuality is important to me. I hate hearing that you think paradise is lost. Maybe you just haven’t had the right guide. I have a feeling that you may find what you’re looking for in my world. I take care of my girls, in every way. Those bills, the loans, I can make all of that disappear, leaving you time to enjoy yourself and for us to enjoy one another. You’ve just got to open yourself up to opportunity, princess.
I read over the message several times, the same icky feeling washing over me each time. I can’t help but think that if I was really struggling this guy would be a lifeline—a life saver.
I reply back:
Eden: Sorry for keeping you waiting. Things are chaotic in my life right now. The idea of being able to enjoy myself, someone else, has been so far out of reach that I can’t imagine it. But talking to you makes me realize there’s hope out there. Maybe a little bit of paradise. Your girls are really lucky.
I take a deep breath and press submit, the little heart appearing to show me it went through. I turn it off, shoving the device back in the drawer. My heart beats, knowing I’m doing something potentially dangerous—something risky and wrong.
I turn off the light and pull up the covers, realizing that this is where Rose and I may have been the same; looking for trouble and not being able to walk away.
One of the perks of being the yearbook editor is the ability to leave school during our work period under the guise of “selling ads.” To be honest, we do sell ads, but since I’m the one in charge I can take off whenever I want. That’s what Ozzy and I do, both dressed in our best '90s grunge for the theme day, and head to the Thistle Cove Diner.
I’m halfway through a bacon and egg sandwich when the bells over the door jingle. I kick Ozzy under the table.
“Jesus,” he says, frowning and rubbing his shin. “What was that about?”
“Sorry,” I nod toward the front to the diner. Chief McMichael just walked in. He eases onto one of the red stools at the counter. The waitress walks over and automatically hands him a cup of coffee.
I wipe my mouth. “I’m going over.”
“To do what?”
“Ask him about Jacqueline.”
“KK…”
“Oz, I have questions and he may have answers. I’m not going to waste an opportunity.”
I slide out of my seat and walk over, taking a quick look back at Ozzy. He tugs nervously at his cap, eyes urging me to abort, but I keep going
, and hop onto the stool next to him.
He glances over, and his eyebrow raises. “Kenley Keene. Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“Oh, I’m out on official yearbook business.” I smile. “Would you or the police station like to buy an ad? Red Ribbon Day? DUI classes? Scared straight.”
He shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee. “I’ll ask the boss.”
I frown. “Aren’t you the boss?”
“Why do I get the feeling you want something other than an ad?”
I lean my elbow on the counter. “Fine. I want to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.” He dumps another packet of sweetener in his cup.
“What can you tell me about Jacqueline Cates?”
He freezes, like completely stops moving and for a second, I think he’s had a stroke. I touch his arm. “Chief McMichael?”
“I’d been waiting for someone to bring up her name. I thought it would be Janice Hill.” He chuckles softly. “It didn’t cross my mind it would be you."
He picks up his coffee and gestures to the table where Ozzy watches us from across the room. “If you really want to talk about this, let’s go take it over there where there’s less nosey neighbors.”
My heart skips, shocked that he’s willing to talk, even more surprised that he’s willing to talk in semi-privacy. I may actually finally get answers about Jacqueline. I lead him over to the table, while Ozzy watches us with curiosity.
“Mr. Drake,” Chief McMichael says, taking the opposite side of the booth. I slide in next to Ozzy and his hand lands on my thigh. “I told Kenley I’d been waiting for someone to bring up Jacqueline. I was shocked no one did when the Waller girl went missing.”
“Until this week, I never knew she existed,” I say. “It’s only by chance that one of the alumni mentoring the float building brought it up. I found her picture in the yearbook and a few articles online. Can you tell us anything? Did you know her?”
“I had the unique position of both knowing Jacqueline Cates before she died—she was my girlfriend’s younger sister, and the bad luck of being the one to find her body.”
Ozzy’s grip tightens around my leg. He speaks first, “You found her by the water?”
He nods, looking worn out and sad. “It was the last day of the search. Like Rose, there were rumors that maybe she’d run away from home, or hurt herself, but we spread through the town looking anyway. The Chief at the time, Bryson, radioed to call it in, but something was nagging at my gut. I kept looking and there she was, pale, looking like she was taking a nap by the water.” He swallows. “If I hadn’t seen the mark on her neck, or the bruise on her cheek, you’d never know she was gone.”
The waitress walks over with a plate in one hand and the coffee pot in the other. She slides the food over to the Chief and refills his cup.
“Thanks, Nancy,” he says, grabbing his fork. “If you’ve done your research, and it seems like you have, Jackie was strangled. Best we know, she was either snatched off the road or someone picked her up.”
I glance at Ozzy. “Do you think it’s someone she knew?”
He builds a sandwich out of his toast, bacon, and eggs. “It usually is.”
“But you never arrested anyone, or even had a primary suspect,” Ozzy says.
“No. The Chief interviewed half the town. Nothing ever came from it.”
“Why do you think it’s kept so quiet, a girl was murdered, and there’s no memorial or mention of it in the papers or anywhere else for the last twenty-five years.”
“Small towns have one of two ways they like to handle tragedy. We either wallow in it and let it over take us, or we push it aside and pretend it never happened.” He takes a sip of coffee. “I think the fear of the unknown with Jackie made it easier to pretend, otherwise it meant there was a boogeyman out there and no one wanted to think about that.”
He frowns again, focused on his breakfast. I get the feeling he’s close to not speaking any further.
I take a stab at one last question. “Do you really think Rose’s death was a suicide?”
He picks up his sandwich and stares at it for so long that I think he won’t answer, but his pale blue eyes meet mine, and he says, “I think that until we find Rose’s body, anything is possible, but for now, it’s resolved. I never understood why Chief Bryson let Jackie’s case flounder until I became Chief myself.” He takes a bite and chews for a long minute. “I may be the head of that department, kids, but I don’t hold the most power in Thistle Cove. The town wanted Rose’s case solved, and it’s solved, even if the results aren’t satisfying.”
“You’re saying someone wanted Rose’s disappearance to be ruled a suicide.”
“I’m saying that you’re poking a hornet’s nest that I’ve been sitting under for thirty years. If I were you, I’d put down the stick.” With that, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, leaving twenty dollars on the table. “Drop one of those ad forms off by the front desk at the station. I’ll see what I can do.”
He slides out of his seat and waves to Nancy, the front door jangling as he leaves.
Ozzy and I look at one another, confused and overwhelmed by everything Chief McMichael just told us, except one thing: the warning at the end.
17
Kenley
After Ozzy and I get back from lunch, I walk down the hall to my locker. I spot Finn near his, a crowd separating us. I can’t help but note and instinctively react to the two girls talking to him. No one I really know. Two juniors—clearly determined to make a move on Thistle Cove’s new and recently available bachelor. Particularly one with no announced homecoming date. Jealousy pools in my stomach. I know it’s uncalled for, but still, it sucks not being able to claim him publicly.
He’s alone when he passes by me a moment later, our eyes locking, and then he gives me the smallest, stomach flip-flopping wink.
I’m flustered when I open my locker, barely noticing the slip of paper that falls to the floor. I glance down, thinking it’s trash, but it’s neatly folded. I pick it up and read the messy scrawl inside.
Room 242-4th Period
Curiosity piqued, I tuck the paper into my pocket and turn the opposite way of my Spanish class and turn down the hall, following the room numbers affixed to the top of the classroom doors. Room 242 isn’t as much a room as a storage closet between the boys' and girls' locker rooms. I approach and rest my hand on the doorknob, stomach twisting with nerves. Chief McMichael warned me about nosing around—is that what this is? I ignore the pounding of my heart as I turn the knob and enter the small, dark room.
“Hello?” I call, feeling a prickle on my neck.
A footstep shuffles on the floor—back behind a tall shelf. Every inch of my body goes on high alert. That note may have not even been for me. There was no name on it, maybe I am just looking for trouble? My mind flashes to the SugarBabies app.
Go! Now! my brain shouts. I spin and reach for the door, at the same time a hand clamps down on my shoulder.
“You got my note,” a voice says, warm in my ear. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
Adrenaline shoots through me. Scared and—
“Ezra?” I whisper.
I turn and see the handsome boy standing a few inches away. His frame is imposing for this little room, there’s barely enough room for the two of us. With my nerves on edge, I can’t help but think that he could overpower me easily.
“Hey,” he says, a smile tugging at his pretty lips. He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
“Is everything okay?” My heart pounds in my chest—differently than before. Less fear, more curiosity. The look he’s giving me elicits a shiver down my spine.
“I was bored,” he confesses. His eyes dart to my lips. “And missing you.”
“Ozzy and I went to sell some ads,” I reply. “Sorry I wasn’t at lunch.”
“This week has been crazy. Between football and hosting the float, I just needed a little peace and quiet.” He touches m
y hip. “And a minute alone with you.”
I can’t imagine having the float activities at my house. It’s non-stop people every day after school, until about 10 p.m. Ezra gets home from practice, and everyone is already there, playing music, being loud, and he still has to get his homework done and deal with everything else.
“How are things with your dad?”
He shrugs. “He had to go into the city yesterday and spent the night, but he’ll be back for the game and other festivities this weekend.” His fingers squeeze my hip. “You know I didn’t ask you in here to talk about my dad.”
I see the flicker of want in his eyes—it matches the flame in my belly. My body remembers Ezra’s touch—how he made me feel up on the couch in his room. The small talk had been to create a buffer, something between us other than this continuous, building desire, but when his hand slips behind my neck and pulls me close? I forget all about those other things.
Ezra’s mouth is warm, his tongue quick. He moves with the graceful ease of a natural athlete, his body reacting on instinct. He leads the play. He leads me. Just like on his couch, I’m putty in his hands.
He guides me backwards until my back hits the flat surface of the door. My fingers roam, pushing under the hem of his shirt, touching the warm skin of his hard abdomen. My thumb brushes the spot he told me was “dangerous.” I don’t care. This whole thing is dangerous. If either of us were caught, we’d get in huge trouble. In-school suspension at the least, benched from the game Friday night.
Maybe I’m not the only one looking for trouble.
Braced against the door, his hips meet mine, grinding against me in a deliciously disturbing way. I feel him; the length, the hardness. With his tongue in my mouth and my heart beating like a drum, I can’t help but think about how he brought me over the edge the other night. Maybe it’s time I do the same for him.
I reach for the waist of his jeans, thumbing at the button. He stops kissing me, but doesn’t really move, just presses his forehead to mine.
