“No!” I shot my hand out and covered his, keeping the screen in place.
“Why?”
“I . . . I can’t . . . you don’t . . . I’m just not ready, OK?”
“I don’t understand. Mena, are you OK? I was joking before, but are you actually a teacher at my school?”
“No. I’m a student.”
The relief was palpable in his sigh. He released his grip on the screen only to push farther past it and take my hand.
As his perfect, warm fingers tangled with mine, he asked, “Mena, what’s this about? Why don’t you want me to know who you are?”
Because you’ll stop talking to me. “It’s complicated. I just want you to know me—the real me—before you know who I am.”
After a beat of silence, we both chuckled.
“Yeah, that made more sense in my head than it did coming out of my mouth,” I said, glad that some of the heavy tension had lifted. “Look, this is all pretty new, and I like you . . .”
I took a deep breath, hardly believing I’d been that honest with a boy about how I felt.
He jumped in before I could keep speaking. “I like you too. A lot.”
I squeezed his hand, running my thumb up and down his, taking a moment to get my shit together while I jumped around and screamed on the inside like a fangirl at a BTS concert. “Enough to be patient with me? I know this is weird. I just . . . I think it could be kind of fun?”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being stalked by someone who’s probably in the CIA.”
I laughed. “I think you mean the FBI. The CIA isn’t supposed to operate on home soil.”
“Why do you know that? The evidence is mounting.”
“A friend of mine said it a while back, and it just kind of stuck.” Harlow spent so much time on the internet I wasn’t entirely sure when she slept, but she was full of random-ass facts.
“Oh? And what—” A low thrumming noise cut Turner off. His hand tensed around mine as all the lights went out. “What the fuck?”
“Chill. The electricity just went out. Happens about once a month on this side of town—sometimes more often in the summer. The grid is old and unreliable. It’ll be back up in ten minutes.”
“Seriously? What a pain in the ass.”
“You get used to it.”
The sun had gone down an hour ago, and the night was overcast. Without the glow of the moon, it was pretty much pitch black. And I had at least five minutes before the lights came back on.
I extracted my hand from Turner’s and got to my feet.
“Wait, Mena—”
“Shh!” With the electricity out, there was no background noise either. My parents were asleep, but we had to be extra quiet, just in case. “Stand up.”
“Did you just shush me?” he whispered, sounding amused, but he shuffled and did as I asked.
I gripped the edge of the bamboo screen and unhooked it from the nails holding it to the wall. When I rolled it aside, there was nothing between us but the metal railing separating his side of the balcony from mine.
My eyes were adjusting to the heavy darkness, and I could just make out his silhouette. I reached out and tentatively placed my hand on his arm. It was ridiculously hard, like warm rocks under his skin.
He responded to my touch immediately, reaching out and placing his hands on my waist.
“Oh, hey, neighbor,” he whispered, leaning in.
“Hey, stranger,” I whispered back, moving my arms up to his shoulders. Why was every part of him so damn solid? And why did I want to run my hands over every inch of it? And why was being so close to him making a heavy, pressured feeling appear low in my belly? “I know we can’t technically see each other, but I hope this makes up for it a bit.”
His hands flexed, and we leaned into each other more.
“Yeah, this makes up for it.” His breath fanned over my face. He was so close I could almost make out the lines of his jaw, his straight nose. But none of the details. And if I couldn’t see the color of his eyes, I was pretty positive he couldn’t see my birthmark.
My boobs pressed against his hard chest, and my breath hitched. He smelled like fresh rain and something warm and comforting—amber, maybe.
“Fuck, you smell good.” Zero filter. I closed my eyes and cringed, but he just pulled me closer, his hands moving to my back, the railing digging into my hips. I hated that damn railing.
“You feel good. Can I kiss you?”
“Please . . .” I didn’t even have time to consider how desperate I sounded. The word was barely out of my mouth before he closed the miniscule distance between our lips and kissed me firmly.
He sighed and moved his lips against mine in a determined but gentle way. His body was hard and lean, but his lips were pillow soft.
It didn’t take long for the kiss to intensify. I don’t know if he darted his tongue out or if I sucked on his bottom lip first, but then our tongues were involved, and little gasping breaths were coming out of my throat.
The thrum of the transformer on the corner snapped me out of the moment, adrenaline coursing through my veins as surely as the electricity was rushing through the wires. I knew that sound—I had about five seconds before the lights turned back on.
“Fuck.” I pulled away abruptly, and he grunted, his body following mine, his hands gripping my clothing.
“Shit. Sorry.” He let go immediately, and I shoved his shoulders until he was safely on his side of the balcony. I yanked the bamboo screen across just as the streetlights below once again bathed the world in artificial light.
I chuckled through shaky breaths, the exhilaration of having kissed Turner, then gotten away with what I’d just pulled, still igniting my every nerve. “That was . . .”
“Yeah . . .” he breathed. “Are you sure you don’t work for the CIA? That was a little too perfectly timed.”
“FBI, remember? And I never denied it.”
He laughed, his voice lower, huskier—it sent desire shooting through my body again. I wanted to feel his lips against mine as he made that sound; I wanted to feel it reverberate through his chest. I clenched my thighs, suddenly aware of the moisture in my underwear.
I had to get out of there before I broke down and did something stupid—like show him my face. “I have to get to bed.”
“Wait.” The urgency in his voice pulled me up short. He shuffled around for a moment, then shoved his hand through the narrow gap between the bamboo and the wall, his phone clutched in his perfect fingers. Fingers that had been digging into my back moments ago, holding me against him as he . . .
I shook my head. Focus, Philomena!
His screen displayed the keypad.
“You want my number?” I asked. “How . . . old school.”
“I mean, I’m happy to connect on Insta or Snap or Twitter, or even Facebook, but you’re determined to maintain your secret spy identity, and I’d like to talk to you outside of this balcony from time to time, so . . .” He wiggled the phone at me.
I took it and entered my number, saving it under “Neighbor.” “Good night, Turner.”
“Sweet dreams, Mena.”
Naturally, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I’d never experienced such a high. Sure, I’d kissed a few guys before at some of Amaya’s parties—I’d even liked one enough to get to second base with him in her pool house—but I’d never stayed up all night replaying every single thing a boy had said to me. Not to mention the kissing—oh god, the kissing!
Every time I thought about it, I either grinned or bit my lip to keep from making a frustrated/excited sound.
The pressure between my legs didn’t abate—if anything, it intensified to a constant dull throb. I rolled onto my front and pressed my face into my pillow, dragging my hand down my body and between my legs as I imagined Turner’s perfect, strong fingers pushing my panties aside. I was so worked up it didn’t take long before I panted my release into my pillow, biting it to keep silent.
Only afte
r that was I finally able to sleep.
The Turner-induced euphoria lasted well into the next day. It was harder than usual to keep my head down and avoid contact with everyone when all I wanted was to spread my arms wide and shout to the whole world how amazing he made me feel. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from grinning when I passed him in the hall on the way to second period.
I was putting my books away in my locker at lunch, smiling as I thought of how his lips had felt against mine, when my locker door slammed shut. I flinched back, only narrowly avoiding getting my arm or head smacked by the metal.
My smile fell, all thoughts of Turner replaced by fear.
“What the fuck could you possibly have to smile about?” Jayden leaned against the locker next to mine, frowning as though he were doing long division without a calculator.
Jayden was Madison’s boyfriend—as if that wasn’t the most predictable fucking high school scenario. The mean girl dated the dumb jock, and they liked to make other people’s lives miserable so they could feel better about themselves. Groan.
Jayden had started at DNHS the same day I had. We could’ve been friends—comrades in being the new kids at school. Madison had been a bitch to me from day one, making lame jokes about my birthmark that half the class laughed along with. Jayden had actually treated me like a human being for a few days. We had lunch together, shared awkward fourteen-year-old chitchat. Then one day I saw Madison and her friends talking to him at lunch. Then he tried out for the football team. Then he ignored me for a solid week. When he sat down next to me at lunch the following Monday, I was happy, excited to have my friend back.
“How was your weekend?” he’d asked.
I smiled and started to tell him, but he cut me off before I could get one word out. “Oh wait!” He half turned in his seat, and that’s when I realized Madison and her friends were watching us, tittering on the sidelines. “I just remembered—I don’t give a shit.”
They all burst into laughter. Jayden’s eyes flicked between what I’m sure was the devastated look in my eyes and the popular kids howling like hyenas. I guess that was his initiation—publicly making me feel like shit.
After that, Jayden and I settled into a new routine. I avoided him as much as all the other assholes, and he pretended I didn’t exist in the most obnoxious and oxymoronic way possible. He routinely bumped into me and loudly said, “What was that? There’s clearly nothing there, but I just tripped.” Or he looked right through me and took a deep inhale, then said another moronic thing like “Do you guys smell that? I don’t see anything, but something smells like loser.” Naturally, everyone laughed at his brilliant jokes.
He’d spoken directly to me only a handful of times—incidents I wished I could forget.
I fought to keep my breathing under control, focusing on a spot at the bottom edge of my locker where a bit of the bluish-gray paint had chipped off. Hoping he’d just go away.
He leaned in, his face close to my cheek, and said in a light, conversational tone, “I asked you a fucking question, Phil.”
“Nothing,” I replied as calmly as I could. I wasn’t allowed to ignore them.
“That’s right—you’re nothing. You may as well not exist.”
Then why are you talking to me, idiot? I so wished I was brave enough to say some of the things that went through my head.
Lucky for me, Jayden was easily distracted.
“Hey, new guy!” He turned away, relegating me back to phantom status.
“Hey, man.”
Turner. I lifted my gaze toward the voice before I even knew what I was doing.
For one glorious, torturous moment, our eyes met. In a world where I was invisible, he looked directly at me and he saw me, a slight frown marring his strong brow. He’d saved me from whatever fucked-up thing Jayden had planned without even knowing it.
I looked away quickly as Jayden slung his arm over Turner’s shoulders and led him away, leaning in to speak to him.
I grabbed my bag and beelined for the picnic table at the back of the science building. It was in a dingy spot, and one of the benches was split, but no one ever went there. I sat down heavily and dropped my head on my arms, unable to eat the sandwich I’d made myself that morning.
The churning in my empty stomach persisted until school let out. As I trailed into the hot afternoon sun along with the other students, I once again spotted Turner. My heart stuttered, and I couldn’t help slowing down. He looked so beautiful, his messy hair shining like gold in the sun, his broad shoulders relaxed, his brilliant smile wide.
But who was he smiling at? I frowned as Jayden thumped him on the back and Turner extended one hand.
The man standing with them was a little shorter than Jayden, but he had the same build, the same dark brown hair, the same olive complexion. His gray suit stretched over his back as he reached out to shake Turner’s hand.
Why was Turner shaking hands with Jayden’s dad? Why was the older man even here?
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked harmless enough. Except I knew how rotten Jayden was deep down. Could the rancid apple really have fallen that far from the tree?
Before I could move closer to listen in, Jayden happened to look over and spot me. His already tight smile fell into a frown, the look one of pure derision, and I realized I was blatantly staring.
I dropped my head and rushed in the opposite direction of home, resigned to taking the long way back—just in case Turner saw me and got suspicious.
I had to be more careful. Meeting Turner was the best thing that had happened to me in a long time—I couldn’t risk any of the assholes at school finding out and ruining it.
There were about ten minutes left until lunch ended, and I resisted the urge to text Turner. We’d exchanged numbers a week ago, but I was keeping the texting strictly to outside of school. God forbid anyone notice me interacting with another human being. We talked every night though, if not on the balcony then on the phone.
He kept asking when he could see me again, and I kept deflecting with coyness and jokes about keeping the mystery alive, but I knew this would have to come to a head eventually. He’d probably lose interest before I got up the courage to show him who I really was.
I sighed and drew my knees up, leaning my head on the row of encyclopedias as I opened Instagram to distract myself. I was studying a makeup look with a watercolor effect on the eyes, wondering which products the artist had used, when I heard my name.
“Mena, Mena, Mena.” It was barely a whisper, but it was definitely Turner’s voice. How the fuck had he figured out who I was?
Eyes wide, I looked around, but all I could see were the rows of books on the shelves to either side of me and a cart at the end of the row I was hiding out in.
Fuck, was I starting to hallucinate?
“Middle name?” he mumbled, sounding more confused. His voice was coming from my right.
Slowly, as soundlessly as possible, I lifted onto my knees and peered through the narrow, uneven gap in the books.
He was standing on the other side; my eyes were about level with the top button of his jeans. Twisting my head, I could just see the bottom of last year’s yearbook as he slowly turned the pages and cursed under his breath.
I covered my mouth to hold back my laughter. He was trying to figure out who I was, sweet, infuriating boy.
Balancing the yearbook on one hand, he reached the other above his head and leaned on the bookshelf. His T-shirt rode up, revealing his hips, the toned muscles in his lower abdomen, the trail of light hair disappearing into the top of his jeans. I had an urge to shove all the books out of the way so I could run my hands through that hair, maybe lick one of the hipbones peeking out next to it.
“Hey, bro!” Jayden’s voice was like a bucket of icy water poured over my head. I recoiled and barely caught myself before I smacked into the opposite bookshelf.
“Hey, Jayden.” Turner sounded friendly, but I knew his voice—there was
a hint of annoyance there too.
“What the fuck are you doing in the library?” Jayden laughed, as though the very existence of libraries was preposterous. I allowed myself an eye roll.
“Some of us know how to read.” Turner’s voice was light, as if he was laughing with Jayden and not at him. I still wanted to kiss him for the dig at that asshole’s intelligence.
“Fuck you, asshole.” Jayden laughed, not sounding the least bit offended. “Come on, I’ve been looking for you. Coach wants to talk to you.”
I heard the yearbook getting shoved back into place, and then they started to walk away. I frowned. Turner hadn’t mentioned anything to me about who he was making friends with at school, but if he started hanging out with them, that would really fucking suck. Couldn’t he see how fake and mean they were? I wasn’t the only student at DNHS whose life was made miserable because of those dicks.
I was just the only one who wasn’t allowed to make friends with other misfits—because I didn’t exist or matter, as they liked to remind everyone.
I sat back on my heels and tried to quell the panic. Maybe if I came clean now, told him who I was and how they treated me . . . but what if he thought I was pathetic and stopped talking to me? What if he already knew and was just in on some elaborate prank?
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to push that last thought out of my mind—it was too painful.
“Hey, pipsqueak.” Jayden’s voice sounded farther away, but it still made me open my eyes, my body primed to go on the alert at any sign of him. “Dad’s picking you up after school, so don’t waste time after the last bell, all right?”
A small voice murmured in response, and then the sound of the library doors opening and closing announced that they’d left.
A moment later, a skinny girl rounded the corner. She saw me sitting on the ground and froze, clutching her open bag to her chest. She was clearly a freshman. She had that deer-in-the-headlights look that starting high school put in everyone’s eyes. Her dark blonde hair was cut short, and she had knobby knees under her cute blue shorts. When she grew out of this awkward stage, she’d be gorgeous. And since she was Jayden’s sister, she’d probably be a total bitch too.
Like You Care: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 1) Page 4
