by Clara Stone
“Whatever.” I dismiss him with a wave of my hand. “Lisa might be understanding for now, but she’s probably making plans to off me for taking so much of your time. Oh, shit, Heath. What if she publicly hangs me by my boring cotton underwear?”
“I’ll make sure you’re wearing a hot pair when that happens, okay?” He winks.
My mouth hangs open as he saunters past me, out the door, and toward his car. Once the shock wears off, I jog to catch up to him. He throws my bag in the backseat of his red, doorless, windowless Wrangler, and comes really close.
He places his index finger under my chin and tilts it up. His eyes gleam bluish-green. “I’ve always got your back, Smalls.” He leans even closer as his lips touch the spot just above my eyebrows, in the center of my forehead. “Always.”
I close my eyes and swallow hard.
“Don’t ever doubt that.”
I nod.
“Now, you have five seconds to get in the car before I declare a skip day.”
I shuffle my feet, climb in, and buckle up. “Why are you so damn set on skipping?” I see a cream-colored poly cup and multigrain bagel with cream cheese waiting for me in the console and smile. Yeah, Heath always has my back. He’s never failed me, not even for a day.
He’s been my rock. My secret-keeper. I touch the cup of coffee to my lips and take in my first sip of heavenly goodness.
“Ace.” I glance toward him, then to his outstretched hand. He’s holding a pink Damask rose with a sweet smile on his face. “Five hundred and sixteen weeks, Smalls.”
Five hundred and sixteen weeks since he’d found me.
Five hundred and sixteen pink Damask roses.
I blink back tears and gulp down the pain in the back of my throat, bringing the flower to my nose and drawing a deep breath. A small smile curves my mouth.
ACE DOESN’T SAY a word the entire way to school, like she’s deep in thought. Her fingers wrap tightly around the coffee cup, and her lips hardly waver off the rim. I try to pay attention to the road, but I can’t. I wonder if she’s pissed at something I said, or if she really thinks Lisa will prank her? If it’s the latter, I don’t see why Ace would worry. Lisa and I were pushed together because our families have been friends for generations—business partners, more or less, from multiple billion-dollar ventures.
But as far as she and I are concerned, it’s temporary. It’s not that I don’t like her—she’s smart and extremely talented in other areas of our relationship—but it takes more than that to be with someone permanently. It takes a meaningful connection, understanding, and love that’ll make me feel like I can fight against the world. And we simply don’t have that. Plus, I don’t want to spend time with someone who’s forced to be with me.
I glance at Ace again. She’s still off in her thoughts, and I’ve found over the years that she likes it that way, so I let her be.
Using the touch screen in my car’s console, I cue up a Journey track. I’d never heard of them until I caught Ace dancing in front of her mirror, hairbrush in hand, lip-syncing to their God-awful music. When I’d asked her who they were, she’d given me their entire history.
I’d then made it my business to own every track, and had learned them by heart within a week. After all, what kind of a person would I be if I didn’t enjoy the interests of my best friend?
I pull into the parking spot I’d had claimed since I got my license last year. Before I’ve even turned off the engine, Ace unsnaps her seatbelt, bringing my attention to her.
“You in a hurry?” I ask as she jumps out of the Jeep, dragging her black and white messenger bag with her.
She slings the bag across her chest, adjusting the straps as she shrugs and turns away. “I’m supposed to meet someone about the senior fundraiser. Rock said the guy usually comes in early on Mondays.”
I groan as I hop out of the Jeep, hauling my own backpack out of the back and shrugging into it. I’d rather be churned in acid than participate in that shitty tradition. This year, Lisa had the brilliant idea to auction humans for dates, deciding it was the best way to make the school an assload of money.
“Well, since I care soooo much about that,” I say, throwing my arm around Ace’s shoulders as we head toward the buildings. “I should provide my two cents.”
“Heath,” she drawls in that sing-song voice of hers.
I arch my eyebrow. “Smalls?”
She shakes her head, and a small smile tugs at her lips.
“Ah, there it is.” I love that smile. I kiss the top of her forehead, and she stiffens in my arms. “What?”
“Nothing.” She pushes away, and I find a hint of pink in her cheeks.
That’s when it hits me: I’d broken my own rule—don’t hug or kiss Ace while on school property. I try to keep distance between us so no idiot will run their mouth about her being one of my many conquests. She’s too good for the shit I surround myself with. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.
When Ace had won the lottery for a full ride to our school, the rumors about us had gotten out of hand. She’d held it all in until Christmas that year, when I’d accidentally caught her crying in her room. I’d pried the information out of her, only to find I was the cause.
Ever since then, I’d kept my distance while still keeping an eye on her. She may not realize it, but hell if some dipshit thinks he can mess around with her reputation.
“I see him,” Ace says, pointing toward the school entrance. She quickly pushes away from me, picking up speed as she walks backward and the distance between us grows. “See you at lunch, Iceman.”
Before I can give her shit for calling me by my nickname, she turns and runs toward Rock. She laughs at something he says and flings her arms around his neck. He pulls her into a bear hug. My chest constricts at the sight.
Another guy joins them. Ace shakes his hand, then ruffles her hair and shoves it behind her ear, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. I can’t hear what they say, but I can tell she’s nervous, or something . . . I don’t like it. I take a step toward them. To do what? I don’t know.
“Iceman.”
Sighing, I turn around to find the person belonging to the voice.
A bunch of my teammates walk toward me—high-fiving each other and laughing. Lisa shoves her way between them, a blinding smile on her face. She’s up to something.
“Hey, baby,” she coos, her hands immediately wrapping around my neck, pulling me down to her five-foot two height. I automatically close my eyes and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her to me. I try to erase the image of Ace being uncomfortable and concentrate on kissing Lisa. I like kissing. A lot.
“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she purrs.
Half-listening, I throw a glance over my shoulder to where Ace was last talking to Rock and that new dude. They’re no longer there. I sigh. Maybe they’ve gone inside?
“Yo, Iceman.” Jason steps between Lisa and me, like he takes precedence over her. Maybe he does. We’ve been Lacrosse buddies since we were five, after all.
I relax. Lisa isn’t a clingy girl, but she likes to think she wears the pants in our relationship. And, well, she doesn’t. But she’s good enough in bed that I let her think that.
“Hey, Jason,” Lisa says, using her sweet voice, sliding her hand into mine like she hadn’t just been pushed aside as an unwelcome fangirl.
He ignores her as he proceeds to ask me a question: “What do you think about Ace?”
My jaw clenches. “What—”
“Dude, don’t even,” Troy says, giving me a fist-pump/handshake combo. His bleach-blond hair and brown eyes make girls throw themselves at him. And what’s a guy to do, but take full advantage of his situation?
“Shut it, Richardson . . .” Jason gives Troy the finger, then turns his attention back to me. “Anyway, I’m thinking about asking her out.”
My head feels like it’s suddenly caught fire, and I’m certain steam will be coming from my ears any moment. “Fuck no.”
“What the fuck, man? It’s not like I need to ask permission to tap that ass, but since I value our friendship, I thought I’d give you fair warning be—ow, hey!” Jason rubs his head.
Lisa smirks, an extendable pointer stick in her hand. “I was just telling Iceman the other day how rude it is to interrupt someone while they’re talking, and here you are, Example A.”
“And you’re a bitch,” he sneers. “Why don’t you turn your cute ass around, walk it to the bleachers over there, and wait your fucking turn?”
Her eyes turn into thin slits and the pulse in her temple makes an appearance. Loud gasps echo around us. There are times in life when the male specimen recognizes that it’s time to shut up and not agitate a she-devil. Unfortunately for Jason, he was absent the day they handed out that memo.
“Oh, Jason.” She taps his cheek. “There’s a much bigger bitch out there than me. She’s usually PMSing twenty-four-seven and goes by the name Karma. I’m sure you’ve met her. And if not, you will. Soon.”
I press my lips together to stifle a laugh as Jason’s face turns several shades of red, and his hands cup his junk for protection. Maybe he got that memo after all.
I hop onto the hood of my Jeep, laughing my ass off, quite happy with this turn of events. Laughs and hollers echo as Lisa turns around and leaves, her hips swaying.
If we were in a serious relationship, I’d go after her. But she can obviously handle herself, and Lisa and I are nothing but friends with benefits. She scratches my itch; I scratch hers. At least until I figure a way out of this whole family obligation thing.
“When are you gonna learn not to fuck around with Lisa?” I chuckle.
“Maybe he’s so desperate to have a girl touch his tiny junk, that he’s willing to summon the devil,” Troy offers, clearly amused at Jason’s faux pas.
“Fuck you, Richardson.” Jason grunts, glaring at Troy.
“Some people are just gluttons for punishment,” Troy continues, rubbing it in.
The bell rings in the distance, giving the first two-minute warning. I jump off the hood, thankful that someone had threatened Jason, even if it wasn’t me.
I CHECK MY PHONE for the zillionth time. My leg’s doing that annoying, shaky thing it does whenever I get impatient. Lunch is coming to an end, and I haven’t seen Ace. I search the enclosed courtyard, yet again, for any sign of her.
Where the hell are you, Smalls?
I’ve been on edge since this morning. Jason’s interest in her scares the shit out of me. There’s nothing I want to do more than plumb the turd’s head in a toilet and flush him down. Teammate or not, that asshole is never laying a finger on Ace.
Never.
I’ve had my share of conquests, but Jason . . . Jason is a sadist. He has a reputation for leaving girls broken when he’s through with them. I’ll kill the bastard before it ever gets that far. I promised her everything would be all right, and I’ll be damned if I go back on it.
I sigh.
“So, what do you say, baby?” Lisa’s hand snakes to the front of my stomach and her fingers walk up my chest. This is unusual, coming from her. She’s not normally so forward in public.
I glance at her. Her gray eyes look back at me, but they’re not the ones I’m desperately seeking. “Hmm?”
She pouts, pushing her perfectly shaped, just-the-right-shade-of-pink lips forward. “You were ignoring me again,” she accuses.
I don’t deny it. Because right this moment, I’d rather prowl the school grounds hunting down Ace . . . or perhaps Jason. With him missing, and Ace not responding to my texts, I’m worried. Furious even.
Lisa grabs my face between her hands and smiles sweetly. “I said, why not make us official?”
For the first time in the last twenty-three minutes, my attention snaps fully to her. She bats her eyelashes. Did she just . . . ? I laugh. She knew before getting into this that I don’t do girlfriends. I mean, I do. Just not relationships.
I hang out. I have fun.
“Baby,” she coos. “We’ve been dating for over four months. Don’t you think it’s time?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Dating? Not so much. Scratching an itch? Plenty.
I’ve never liked the “girlfriend” label. It just ends up giving false hope to the people involved. It makes it seem like we belong to each other. But in the end, really, every man and woman is on their own.
I shake my head. “Lisa, you know that’s not my thing.”
She kisses my cheek, coyly, and smiles up through her lashes. I hold back the chuckle that’s threatening to burst out. There’s no use trying to fight her on this now. Not with people around. Not with Jason missing. I’d rather deal with this in private, where it belongs.
“You know, Iceman, you and I have something really good.” I don’t miss her innuendo. Yeah, we are good—really good—in bed. “And you’ve never dated anyone as long as me. So, I know you feel something for me.” She taps her finger on my chest. Then she straightens her back, sitting away from me, her manner back to prim and proper Lisa.
Did she forget that we were forced into this relationship by our families, and that’s the only real reason we’ve been “dating” for as long as we have?
Someone slaps my shoulder. “Who the hell died? Because it looks like I just walked into a funeral.”
I stiffen and look up. Jason. “You, asshole,” I say.
“Whatever, man.” He smacks a kid at the table next to us upside the head. The kid looks up and hurriedly stands, tripping over his feet. Jason laughs and grabs the chair. He scrapes it toward our table, turning it around to straddle it.
“So, what do you say, baby? Let’s make it official,” Lisa persists.
Jason snorts. I glare at him, my molars grinding.
Damn, this woman is just asking to be humiliated in public. Can’t she get the hint? This is not the time or place to talk about something like this. I open my mouth to say as much, then close it as I catch sight of Ace.
She walks in with a dude in all black, stopping mid-step. She yanks her hand back from his grip, like she’s trying to get away from him. She shakes her head and takes a step back. The guy advances, reaching for Ace, and next thing I know, she’s on the ground.
Did that douche-fucking-bag just shove her?
I see red.
“Excuse me,” I say, clenching my jaw so hard, it hurts to swallow.
Ace notices me walking toward them as she gets back on her feet. The asswipe’s still hovering near her. Her gray eyes turn into big globes, but before she can say anything, I pull back my fist and ram it into the asshole’s jaw. I wince as pain radiates through my knuckles.
“Fuck, man,” Dude says, the same time Ace places her hands over my chest and yells:
“Heath!”
My gaze travels to Ace’s, leaving the douchebag’s face. She never calls me Heath at school. Her eyebrows go missing behind her golden-colored bangs and her nose flares.
Why the hell is she pissed at me? Dude was the one that shoved her.
She leaves my side and goes to . . .
“Vincent,” she says, reaching to touch his bruised jaw. Mine is ready to pop from clenching.
Vincent brushes her hand away and, pushing her aside, comes straight for me.
Come and get me, asshole.
Just as he reaches me, someone pulls me back. I falter for only a second. Ace steps between us again, and I’m screaming in my head, “Get out of the way, Ace!”
His eyes never leave mine, even while she’s talking to him.
Bring it.
I swear, if he touches her again, Vincent’s going to be wincing every time he walks for the rest of his God-given life.
His eyes drop to Ace and he nods. He turns to leave; I feel my rage building. Maybe it’s because of all the pent-up tension I’d felt waiting for Jason to show, or maybe I was just itching to get into a good fight, and he seems like a worthy opponent. But, either way, I just can’t let it go.
“D
on’t you ever fucking touch her, Vincent,” I sneer. “Because next time, hiding behind a girl isn’t going to stop me from shoving your face up your ass.”
His head snaps toward me, and I have a freaking smile on my face. Oh yeah, he’s pissed.
Ace steps in front of him, her eyes pleading as she whispers. He nods and leaves.
Damn, Ace, the fun was just about to begin. Why did she have to go and spoil it?
Her stare shoots death-daggers toward me as she follows him through the double doors that lead into the main building. Shaking my hand as the pain in my hand returns, I turn around, heading back to my table. Every pair of eyes in the cafeteria is locked on me.
Whatever.
Lisa’s sad, yet pissed-as-hell glare makes me pause for a second.
I groan.
I swear, women are going to be the death of me one day.
I DODGE THE VARIOUS pieces of machinery that occupy every inch of the shop, walking toward the back of the classroom, where most of the smaller tools are stored. Rummaging through cabinets full of wire, wood, and power tools, I find what I’m looking for. I’ll never understand, or appreciate, the smell of tools. It might be something about their ability to cut you open in seconds. It just seems so . . . unsafe. The requirement to handle sharp objects with some familiarity is one of the main reasons why I’ve never taken this class—I’d be a hazard to myself and anyone around me.
I grab the toolbox and take it back to Vincent. He’s absorbed in his work, crouched next to the framework of the wooden podium he’s building for the fundraiser. I set the toolbox on the ground near him, open it, and reach inside. I grab the first object my fingers wrap around—a hammer—and offer it to him, a peace offering of sorts. When he ignores me, I sigh and drop it back into the box with the other tools. I turn, drag a nearby bar stool over, and hop onto it.
“We have twelve weeks,” I say, tapping the bottom ring of the bar stool with my foot, unsure if he hears me, or if he even wants me here.
