by Nicole Fox
I can feel the heat rolling off her exposed skin.
I can smell the tinge of sweat on her body, and the floral notes of her deodorant.
This has all gotten out of control. I’m losing my handle on the situation, and I can’t afford that with Haley. I’ve already put myself at risk just associating with her.
People are buying the story that we’re sleeping together, but that doesn’t mean the lie should become reality. Entangling myself with Haley anymore would put my secrets in even more peril, and she isn’t worth that.
No one is.
I move to step back, but before I can, Haley’s warm fingers wrap around my wrist.
“I know you aren’t like John.” Her tongue darts out to swipe across her lips, and her eyes shift from the floor to my face, lashes brushes across her pink cheeks.
She is nervous again, but it doesn’t feel the same as before. This is a new kind of energy. An energy I recognize. One I strangely feel in the kick-drum rhythm of my own heart.
“I know you’re better than him, Caleb. You’re not a monster. You’re—”
Before Haley can even finishing getting the words out, I wrap my free hand around her waist, spin her body towards mine, and press her back against the wall.
The shoes that had been dangling from her fingers fall to the floor along with the rest of her belongings. I kick them aside so there is nothing between us.
She gasps, her warm breath washing over my face, but she doesn’t push me away. Her hand slips from my wrist to my shoulder and then tentatively curves around to my back, drawing me closer.
That is all the invitation I need.
I close the sliver of space left between us and crush my mouth over hers.
Haley’s mouth is soft. Her lips are plump and warm and yielding. There is no hesitation in the way she responds to me. She goes fluid against my body. The nervous tension flows away as her form bends to mine.
Fuck, I know this is a mistake.
But that doesn’t mean I can stop.
It has been too long since I’ve felt release, and I’ve been thinking about Haley too much to not take this opportunity to find out if her skin is as soft as I’ve imagined.
To learn what my name would sound like on her lips, moaned in pleasure.
She stretches onto her toes, and my hands slide down the smooth line of her spine to slip beneath the elastic band of her leggings. Her body rolls against me. I groan at the contact, a shudder moving through my center.
Haley tastes like fruit and salt. I swirl my tongue into her mouth to taste her more deeply, and she responds in kind.
Her fingers curl into the hair at the back of my neck, drawing me down—deeper, closer.
“Caleb…” She whispers my name and turns her head, and I lose my hold on reality.
I’ve kissed so many girls.
It has never been like this before.
She isn’t fake-moaning into my mouth and writhing against me while fumbling with my zipper. Her fingers are gently exploring my hair and the back of my neck. Her lips are tentative and tasting, moving in earnest interest against mine.
She is savoring every second.
Ten minutes ago, I would’ve been perfectly fine with skipping all this foreplay bullshit. I said I didn’t want to hurt her, and that was mostly true, but not one hundred percent.
The truth is that I’ve spent way too many nights since she crash-landed in my world imagining her moaning with good pain beneath my touch.
I’ve imagined spanking her ass raw. Seizing her hair back to expose that delicate throat and gnawing at the pale skin there.
I’ve jerked off to the thought of her spread-eagled on her back as I drive into her again and again. It’s always rough in my mind’s eye—choking and biting and sweaty, desperate fucking.
Maybe violence is the only language I know how to speak.
But fuck, I want to speak it to her so badly.
I want to hear her speak it back.
That would be a huge fucking mistake. I know that. One taste would undo me.
Because I’d have to have another, and another, and another.
Until before I knew it there would be nothing else in the world that mattered more to me.
So I have to stay away from her. She’s a temptation I have to resist. A gateway drug to an insanely dangerous addiction.
Even me hating her and being cruel and cold to her the way I have been doing is too close to something like a relationship forming between us.
What we need is nada. Nothing. Zilch.
Not hate.
Not love.
Not sex.
Not fighting.
No matter how bad I want Haley Cochran, I need to steer way the fuck clear of her.
When I pull away, Haley stumbles forward slightly. Her lips are swollen with kisses, her eyes sleepy, and her hair is teased from my fingers.
This can’t happen.
It won’t.
She bats long lashes at me. “Is everything okay?”
“Time’s up.”
“Oh.”
Her shoulders drop in disappointment, but she hides it well, bending to pull on her shoes while I flip off the lights.
I move past her in the dark, ignoring the nearly magnetic tug I feel towards her.
She and I have an arrangement. If I uphold my end, she’ll keep her mouth shut about my fighting. She doesn’t know why I fight—why I have to keep going back to the underground week after week—and I don’t want her to know.
It’s safer for both of us if she stays in the dark, which means this arrangement can’t progress to anything more.
I open the front door and hold it open for her. She walks towards me with her head down, but stops in the doorway, looking back at me over her freckled shoulder. “Are we still meeting this weekend or—?”
“Yep.” I cut her off with a quick nod. “Nothing has changed.”
I repeat those words silently to myself after she is gone, hoping I can take them to heart.
Nothing has changed.
What a load of bullshit.
19
Caleb
Everything has fucking changed.
I kick a rock off the side of the rickety old dock, letting it plunk into the mostly stagnant water below.
But it isn’t enough to ease the burning tension under my skin.
I crush the half-full beer can in my hand, barely noticing the cool liquid dripping down my arm, and fling the can into the middle of the pond.
“Ease up before I have to stage a citizen’s arrest,” J.C. yells from the bank. “No littering!”
“You can’t citizen’s arrest someone for a misdemeanor. It has to be a felony.” Noah is sitting in shadows, only visible because of the glowing embers at the end of his joint.
I don’t need to see J.C. to know he is rolling his eyes.
I shouldn’t have even come out with the boys tonight. I’m not in the mood for joking around.
Plus, pot makes me paranoid, which I certainly don’t need right now. Still, I had a few hits so it wouldn’t look suspicious, and I can’t seem to stop scratching the back of my neck.
It has been one week since I kissed Haley, and everything has changed.
Despite my misgivings, I’d told Haley I’d train with her over the weekend, so we did. I kept the sessions short and simple, mostly focusing on weight lifting in Finn’s private gym, and left a safe six feet of space between us at almost all times.
Much to Felix’s dismay, I skipped the Saturday night fights. He texted me a few times to make sure I really wasn’t coming before he scheduled another match.
I had some extra cash stashed away in my top drawer, so I figured I could afford a day off.
I was wrong.
When I got home Saturday night, I arrived at the same time an unknown car pulled up in front of the house. My mom got out of it.
“My g.d. car,” she grumbled, shaking her head as she marched towards the house. “It won’t s
tart. My manager at the bar is giving me until opening tomorrow to clear it out of the lot, and of course, the asshole won’t pay for a tow.”
“We can afford a tow,” I said, trying to calm her down.
“But we can’t afford a tow, getting my car fixed, and a new laptop.” She flopped down on the couch and dropped her head in her hands.
“A new laptop? What happened to my laptop?”
My mom lifted her face guiltily and tipped her head towards the kitchen table. My laptop is turned upside down with a towel underneath it. An empty glass of water sits suspiciously on its side right next to it.
“I spilled water on it right before work. I thought maybe the water would drain out. And maybe it has,” she said hopefully. “Maybe it will work fine.”
It didn’t. The damn thing wouldn’t turn on, even after I filled a plastic tub with rice and submerged it in there overnight.
So now the laptop is fried, the tow for my mom’s car cost over two hundred bucks, and the tow driver thinks her problem is the transmission, which means fixing it would cost more than it’s worth.
He also suggested she buy new tires, though I don’t see what the point in that would be since the car is basically a useless hunk of metal now.
I offered to let my mom drive my truck, but she refused.
“Your dad pays for that truck for you. If he found out I was driving it, he might stop payments. We can’t both be without cars.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” I said, even though I had absolutely no idea if it was true.
My mom raised a dubious brow. “He takes care of you because you’re his kid. I’m nothing to him anymore. If it wasn’t for you, he would have taken everything and left me to fend for myself.”
I wanted to tell her we already were fending for ourselves, but it wouldn’t change anything and would only make her more upset, so I kept my mouth shut.
In the end, I gave Mom the few hundred dollars I had saved away and resolved to continue my winning streak at the fights next weekend.
But I forgot that I wouldn’t be fighting next weekend, either.
“The camping trip this weekend is going to be weird without Finn and Viktor,” J.C. says, holding his hand out for Noah to share the joint.
“Maybe we should postpone and do it on a weekend they can come back for it,” I suggest, hoping I sound more casual than I feel.
Noah shakes his head. “They won’t be back until Christmas.”
“Plus, we’re going to celebrate our senior year. As much as I love those guys, they’re old now. I don’t need them bumming me out with talk about rent and taxes and health insurance, okay? I just want to think about all of the pipe I’m going to lay this year.”
“No one says that,” Noah groans.
“And Viktor is in the dorms and Finn owns a house. Neither of them have rent,” I add.
“Whatever.” J.C. waves the joint to dismiss us both, and Noah lunges out and takes it back from him. J.C. has been known to drop joints in the dirt on more than one occasion. “We’re camping this weekend and it will be a good time. Speaking of, time to pony up.”
Noah leans back on his elbows in the dirt. “What?”
“Whoever’s turn it is to buy the goods, cough up the cash,” J.C. says. “I’m meeting with a dealer tomorrow after school to get the weekend’s supplies.”
My chest constricts at the mention of money. “What are you talking about? We have camping gear and there is more than enough alcohol at Finn’s place.”
J.C. presses his thumb and pointer finger together and takes a long draw from the pretend joint in his fingers. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but our police officer on the inside is now six feet under, so we don’t get the evidence locker weed anymore. I’m going to have to cart my ass over to Public and scrape the very bottom of the barrel to find a dealer who isn’t associated with the Hell Princes. You’re welcome.”
“Where’d this come from, then?” Noah asks, holding up the joint with a curious brow.
J.C. grins. “The bottom of Finn’s dad’s underwear drawer.”
Noah’s nose wrinkles, and he holds the joint out for J.C. “You could have told me that before.”
“Relax. It was in a plastic bag. It’s not like he rubbed it on his balls.” J.C.’s cheeks puff out comically large as he takes a hit.
Noah shakes his head. “I’m not smoking a dead man’s pot. That’s how you get haunted.”
I stop running numbers in my head, trying to figure out how I’m going to pay for my portion of the weekend, and turn to Noah. “You believe in ghosts?”
His face is perfectly straight when he nods.
Noah has always been the quiet one. Without all of the other guys clamoring to talk over each other and drawing all of the attention, I’ve been able to see how much Noah likes fucking with people.
He sits back, seemingly quiet and uninterested, but he’s always looking for an opportunity to stir the pot. So, I have no idea if he is being serious or not, but if it’s part of a plan, I suspect I’ll find out soon enough.
“More for me then.” J.C. toasts the joint in the air before bringing it back to his lips. “I’m not afraid of ghosts. Especially bitch-ass ghosts like Mr. Foster.”
Noah shakes his head. “You shouldn’t say shit like that, man.”
“Whatever.” J.C. rolls his eyes and then turns to me. “I’m making the drug run and Noah is buying hot dogs—”
“I never agreed to pack the picnic baskets,” Noah interrupts.
J.C. continues without paying him any mind. “So, if you give me fifty bucks for the weed, we’ll be square.”
Fifty bucks is nothing. I should roll my eyes at fifty dollars and hand it over without question. Except, I know my wallet is empty.
Worse, I know my drawer at home and my bank account is empty, too.
I can’t afford aspirin, let alone marijuana.
I’m flat broke and flat screwed.
“Why are you the one who picks it up?” I ask. “I can do it.”
J.C. raises a brow. “You want to go out to Public? Are you looking to start a riot?”
“He’s right,” Noah says, though he seems annoyed about being forced to agree with J.C. “You can’t go to Public by yourself. The Hell Princes will be on your shit faster than flies.”
“Then we’ll all go together.”
“It’s a drug deal, not High School Musical. Only one of us needs to go.”
“And I’m not doing it,” Noah says, putting his finger on his nose.
“He won’t,” J.C. says, nodding towards Noah. “And you can’t. So, the task falls to me and, lucky you, all you have to do is pay for it.”
That’s all I have to do. Like it’s that easy.
“Why don’t we all just bring our own shit?” I growl. “This doesn’t need to be a pot luck. We don’t need to have communal weed. You both smoke way more than I do, so I don’t know why I should pay for you to get high.”
“Because we’ve both paid for you to get high.” Noah is usually the last one to willingly join a conversation, but he is sitting up now and watching me. “Why is this a big deal?”
Because I have nothing in common with my friends if I’m not rich.
Because they’ll look down on me. Or worse, they’ll try to help.
I don’t want their scorn. I don’t want their pity.
I just want to be left the fuck alone.
“Is everything okay?” J.C.’s usual high-spirited smile is tempered, concerned.
“Fine,” I grumble, standing up and dusting off my jeans. “But if I’m paying for you both to have a good time when I won’t partake, I’m going to secure a good time of my own.”
They look at each other, trying to understand what I’m saying, but I barely understand it, either.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Noah asks.
I dismiss his question with a wave. “I don’t have my wallet, so I’ll get the money to you when I get it to you.”
J.C.
starts to argue and Noah starts to ask where I’m going, but before either of them can say much of anything, I jog up the small hill behind the dock and jump into my truck. I don’t want to talk to them right now.
The paranoia from the marijuana and the nervous energy that always hums under my skin when I go too long without a fight are mixing into a dangerous cocktail.
When I pull out my phone, I see another missed call and voice mail from my dad, but I dismiss them both with a flick of my finger, scroll through my contacts, and type out a quick message.
Finn’s in fifteen. Don’t be late.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder a few minutes later, and I check it when I stop at a red light.
Meet you there.
20
Caleb
If Haley wonders why I called her to a spontaneous training session after telling her the night before it was canceled, she doesn’t say anything.
She is standing on Finn’s porch when I arrive, her mass of dark curly hair pulled into a knot on top of her head. She is wearing a distressed pair of jean shorts, a thin cotton tank top, and a pair of sandals.
I shake my head at ever thinking the sight of her in leggings was merely painful.
This is pure torture.
“Not exactly fighting clothes,” I say with a quick nod in her direction, my eyes trained on the house keys in my hand.
“Any clothes can be fighting clothes,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t think an attacker will give me a chance to change into a sports bra and tennis shoes. Might as well learn how to fight in anything, right?”
I don’t argue or agree.
Finn’s house is dark and cool. The walls are thick, keeping out the damp Texas heat. Even without the air conditioner running, it stays chilly inside. Stepping through the door often feels like entering another world entirely.
It isn’t, though, I remind myself. Here, now, with Haley in Finn’s house, this is the same world it was half an hour ago. The same world where I need to fight to survive, where my dad is a piece of shit, where the house of cards I’m hiding under could come crumbling down at any moment.
Soft lips and hands and silky tangled hair won’t change any of that.
