by Molly E. Lee
“Let’s get you another drink,” I said, eyeing the empty water bottle in his hand.
“Oh no. I’m good—”
I grabbed his hands, effectively cutting him off, and towed him to the kitchen. I had a beer in his hand in a blink and continued to tug him toward the dance floor. “You can drink and dance, right?” I asked, already swishing my hips.
A panicked look flashed as he darted his eyes over the couples breaking it down on the floor. “I think it’s the other way around.”
I tilted my head.
“I have to drink in order to dance.”
I laughed, the reaction totally genuine and annoying. Damn him and his charm. Focus. “Isn’t that what all guys say?” I chided. “I totally didn’t take you to be like the rest of them.”
Crap, this flirting is coming a little too easy.
“I’m not.” He circled his fingers around my wrist and pulled me toward him after I’d stopped us at the edge of the dance floor. “You should know that I’m not.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I have always known you were different. I mean, what guy saves a dead tree trophy only to give it back a year later with a cute little face on it?”
“Branch is rugged, not cute.” He chuckled. “And you never complained.”
“I love Branch,” I said, meaning it. He was the equivalent of the stuffed animals I never hung on to. “The only silver lining about losing is knowing I get to keep him for a while.”
Gordon smiled and followed my lead, matching my movements with subtle sways of his hips. After a few tries, the boy had it down. Fast learner, though that I’d already known.
I swallowed hard as he moved closer until our bodies were flush. I wrapped my arms around his neck, glancing up at him as the beat of the music pulsed through the room. The bass vibrated in my chest that pressed against Gordon’s, and it was so easy to imagine lowering my hands to explore his muscles. I closed my eyes and focused on the music, trying like hell not to inhale his scent, or register just how good I felt in his arms. I swear it was like the boy touched me and I relaxed and got excited at the same time. Like I could easily fall asleep or build a house, whichever popped into my head first.
His free hand rested innocently on the middle of my back, and he took a drink with his other as I peered up at him. Why was he so easygoing? I knew I wasn’t that irresistible, hell, I was downright difficult and hard to follow sometimes. So what was making him stay? Making him go along with whatever I said? Making his touch shoot fireworks across my skin?
It had to be because he was the enemy, right? My ultimate equivalent of the bad boy. Not like how Lennon was a bad boy—all rock star and no college—but Gordon seemed tailored for me specifically. He was smart, handsome, and quite possibly the one guy in the entire school who challenged me, but he was also the one person who had gotten under my skin. The one who had broken my heart when it wasn’t even his to break. That made him the enemy, the bad boy, the totally untouchable rock star of my nerd world.
That explains it.
All the talk over wanting the guy on the motorcycle with the dark past made sense to me now, and I regretted all the ways in which I’d made fun of Braylen for swooning over those tropes on the shows she binge-watched on Netflix.
Now, I got it. It was a body malfunction—maybe even a heart one, too—where you latched on to the one person who was totally off-limits.
Well, I could easily ignore it, and would.
And besides, there were only a few hours left before midnight—the timeslot on my planner that had his name written all over it. As long as I could keep him here, and as long as no one spilled the secret I was keeping.
“Sometimes I wish I was telepathic,” Gordon said, lowering his head to press his cheek against mine so I could hear him.
I laughed, hoping he couldn’t feel the uncontrollable flush that raked my skin upon his whisper. “Why?”
“Because I’m dying to know what’s going on in your head right now.”
I jolted back, locking eyes with him. Could he see through me? Did he realize I was faking all of this just to keep him here at the party? “What do you mean?”
He shrugged and kept moving us to the beat of the music when I’d all but forgotten we were dancing. “Just wondering if your line of thinking matches up with mine.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “And that would be?” My heart raced as I waited for him to answer. Why was my body dead set on betraying me tonight?
“That you and I—”
“Ow!” I cut him off when something hit the back of my head. I rubbed at the spot, glancing at the floor where a truffle had rolled to a stop against my flat. “What the hell?” I asked Gordon, who peered over my shoulder.
“Fynn,” he said, shrugging. “Must have nuts in it.”
I gasped.
“Don’t worry,” he said before I could turn around and bolt to wherever Bray was. “Braylen didn’t eat it. Probably why you were clocked.”
I half laughed, half sighed in relief. I knew Bray’s mind was somewhere else tonight, but she needed to get a grip. Normally she was so on top of her nut allergy.
That makes two of us.
A pleasant chill rolled down my spine as Gordon held me closer when the song switched to a slower tune. “I, um…” I had totally forgotten what we were talking about before. Or why I was enjoying it so much.
He paused suddenly. “You want to stop?”
“No.” I shook my head and forced us into motion again, hating that I enjoyed the way he danced.
Bad boy effect. That’s all.
Right. It was just like whenever I thought about not studying for a test—the thrill of breaking the rules was a fun rush, but the reality of the situation wasn’t. That was the explanation for every reaction to Gordon tonight.
I settled into the rhythm of the music, giggling at Fynn when he mouthed the word sorry at me. When I realized he was dancing with Katy and not Braylen, I jerked Gordon closer to me to block my view. I’d promised Bray until midnight, and I would stand by that promise, but damn if I didn’t want to stomp across the dance floor and break those two apart. I didn’t care if Braylen said Katy was being nice, Fynn belonged with Bray. Everyone but them could see it.
The song transitioned to the next, and I recognized Lennon’s voice. “This is one of Bray’s favorites,” I said, continuing our movements to the beat.
“Oh yeah, I like this one, too.” Gordon nodded in time with the base, and to my utter shock, he started singing quietly along with the words.
In that moment, I let his and Lennon’s voices rush over me. Let it drown out every other thought as I hovered in the unstable territory that was my mind.
No we won’t
No we won’t
Stop till dawn
All day long
At each other’s throats
Can I get a minute
Where you’re not in it?
Gordon swayed us to the rhythm, never missing a breath of the song.
I like a good burn
I like a slow churn
Like the way you make me earn
But sometimes the sting
Isn’t always a good thing
But it’s all that we can bring
And no we won’t stop
No we won’t stop
Stop till dawn
I fell under his spell—complete shock and wonder—like I was seeing a side of him he kept hidden away from everyone but for some unknown reason he was letting me see tonight.
This thing with me and you
Will keep on coming
Till we’re cleaned through
Keep gnawing and pawing
If you only took a second
You’d see we could be flawless
But we won’t stop
No we won’t stop
Stop till dawn
How was he capable of this sort of intimacy—this slow dance with a whispered song—and yet he could crush me like he had this morning?<
br />
I’ve never wanted to see the sun
So bad and yet never wanted to
Hit pause so long
Here in the in between
Truce line, you and me
Is this how it could be?
But we won’t stop
We never stop
Never stop
Till dawn
The song ended and my chest felt tighter than it had when it started. I never felt like that when Lennon sang, and I’d seen him pick up a guitar and play randomly hundreds of times.
I took a deep breath to try and clear the tension in my chest, and I caught another delicious trail of Gordon’s scent and it soothed every wired muscle in my body. If just a smell could do that, I couldn’t imagine what a kiss from him would be like.
I jolted like I’d been hit with another truffle. Why was I suddenly picturing what his lips would feel like against mine? Was it because we danced so well together? Because we made a great team earlier? Or was it still the bad boy effect?
Ugh. It needed to stop.
I was treading a dangerous new ground that bordered the line of faking it and wanting it to be real. And that wasn’t possible. I couldn’t like Gordon Meyers. Not after what he’d done.
Each minute I spent with him begged to differ, but I needed to stay close to him to make sure he didn’t leave the party early. This was only getting harder, but the plan was halfway executed. No turning back. I was stuck with him—and the annoying sensations he drew out of me—for the rest of the night.
Hell, not only for Braylen but for me. Midnight couldn’t come soon enough.
At least then it would be over.
After he realized what I’d done to get back at him, he’d never want to talk to me again.
A sharp sting sliced through my chest at that realization, but I ignored it and threw it in the same pile of unmerited reactions to all things Gordon that kept happening tonight.
I glanced at my cell as the music transitioned to another song. No news from Julie was good news. And the clock said I only had three hours to go.
Now, if I could survive that long without losing my head, we’d be golden.
Chapter Nine
Gordon
This is wrong.
The way Zoey moved against me as the beat switched to a slower tune. The way she pulled me closer instead of pushing me away. The way I’d easily sung Lennon’s song in her ear, my cheek almost touching hers.
It was all absolutely and fantastically wrong.
When I’d started my day, the world had come crashing down around me with betrayal and loss on numerous levels. I’d snapped—thrown Zoey under the bus in the blowout—and yet, here she was, her delicate arms wrapped around my waist like she couldn’t get close enough. Like she wanted to breathe me in. She was soft and smelled amazing and…it didn’t make sense. I thought I’d show up, apologize, and get a drink thrown in my face. Quite possibly slapped.
Not this.
And now that we’d called the truce between us, it was like I was seeing her for the first time. She’d always been gorgeous, but when she looked up at me as I held her—even for just a dance—well, it did weird things to my heart I couldn’t understand. Made me picture her beside me, made me wonder what it could’ve been like all these years if we hadn’t been fighting, hadn’t been maintaining the almost playful banter we’d had for ever. If we’d pushed for something more…who knew what life could’ve been like?
I moved my hand to the small of her back as she swayed back and forth to the song. Her skin was warm through the thin fabric of her tunic, and I swallowed hard. Zoey had always been a girl I saw as almost an enemy—a threat, someone who beat me every time a competition presented itself. But things had changed.
Hell, everything in my life had changed in a blink. With my father’s news this morning…those few words had altered every vision of a future I’d had for myself. The pressure was on for the internship, but something had settled in my gut. And the more time I spent with Zoey tonight—seeing her as just a girl and not the person who outsmarted me at every turn—it was easy to realize how much she’d pushed me throughout our entire school careers. If it hadn’t been for her, would I have tried as hard as I did?
Zoey rolled her hips, the touch as smooth as silk and light as a feather, but the motion connected with every nerve ending I possessed. A warm shiver ran down my spine, and my once steady hands shook. I lost a grip on each worry and thought in my head, and the relief was so intense, it made my head spin in a way the beer earlier hadn’t.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Zoey glanced downward for a second before she met my eyes. I never noticed the light flecks of gold that swirled in the greens. Maybe it was because I’d been too busy trying to top her than take a second to get to know who I was fighting. Had I wasted the last four years with books and the shop? I should’ve stopped for one second to really look at her.
“Let’s take a break,” she said after the song had ended, and I followed her off the dance floor. She glanced over her shoulder as she headed toward the hallway to the right of the room. “You up for another game?”
“I have to be up wicked early,” I said, recognizing the hesitance in my tone. I didn’t want to stop, but knew I should.
“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling. “I’ll make sure you’re out of here early enough to catch some sleep. Stay?”
“Sure,” I said, surprised at how quickly I agreed. I wouldn’t risk the meeting tomorrow, but the night was still early. And I could stand a few more drinks after the day I’d had. Zoey was right. I had plenty of time to get some rest before waking up to meet with Mr. Handler tomorrow.
“You have room for two more?” Zoey asked, popping her head into a room that looked like its main purpose was a secondary home office. There was a lone desk in the corner—a simple construction of light wood with a Mac on top of it. A sectional sofa hugged the opposite wall of the desk, and several people scattered across its cushions. A glass coffee table sat right in front of the couch, and there were thin wooden cards on top of it, half with an A carved into them and the other half with Bs.
“Totes,” Becky—our resident thespian—answered as she scooched over to make room for us. The girl was headed to NYC in a few months to try her hand at acting—like Lennon, she was chasing her dream rather than hitting college. I had no doubts she’d make it. She was phenomenal on stage.
A few other seniors—including uber-jocks Jarred and Don—sat on the plush white carpet on the other side of the table. Everyone had a drink in their hand.
Becky passed us two solo cups filled with beer from the keg I’d spotted in the kitchen earlier. I preferred the bottles, but this would do. “We’re playing would you rather…? Ever try it?”
I shook my head, and so did Zoey. We had that in common, at least. Neither of us was fluent in the art of drinking games, but we were quick learners. And if it was a team game, they didn’t stand a chance against us.
“All good,” Becky said. “Super simple.” She handed us each a pair of A and B cards before pointing to a fat stack of brightly colored notecards that lay face down in the center of the table. “Those are the question cards. I’ve been elected reader, so each round, I flip one over and ask everyone a would you rather…?. The first option is A and the second B. You have thirty seconds to decide, and place your answer card on the table. Anyone in the minority answer group has to take a drink.” Her blue eyes darted between us. “Get it?”
I tried not to show my disappointment that it wasn’t a team game. After the Cornhole experience, I was more than willing to test our compatibility as teammates—we’d killed it, and it had been so much easier than when we were competing against each other. I wanted to know if it was a fluke or if we really were that much alike.
“Yeah,” I said, nudging Zoey. “Want to make a bet at how many we answer the same?”
A spark blazed behind her eyes. “You really do love to gamble, don’t you?”
“Simple bets, sure,” I said, shuffling the pair of cards in my hands. The thin wood reminded me of the handmade coasters that Fynn had bought for Braylen one year for her birthday. I’d tagged along for the ride to the custom craft shop when he’d placed the order. He’d had the carver engrave Marvel character symbols in their centers, making sure he had covered all of her favorite heroes. And still somehow the dude couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
I glanced at Zoey, swallowing hard.
“Fine,” she said before I could entertain the thought much longer. “I’ll bet you that twenty we won earlier that we have less than half of the same answers.”
“Sounds fair.” I pulled out my cell and opened the note app. “I’ll keep track. And I’m betting that we have over seventy-five percent of the same answers.”
Her eyes popped, but she grinned. “You’re on,” she said before jabbing a polished finger at me. “No cheating.”
“How would I cheat?”
“Don’t answer the way you think I would answer.” Her glare screamed how serious she was, and I couldn’t help but smile. She was as competitive as me.
“I’m not that clever,” I admitted, motioning for Becky that we were ready to start when she was.
The other conversations around the table hushed when she pulled the first question card. “Oh, this is a good one,” she said after reading it to herself first. “Would you rather be alive in the past or be alive in the future?”
I placed the B card on the table two seconds before Zoey did. She scoffed like I’d copied her, even though I’d gone first. “Reasoning?” she asked as everyone else laid their cards down. Majority ruled with us, so we escaped having to take a drink.
“I appreciate history,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I want to go back to a time before air conditioning and smart phones.”
She laughed, nodding. “Or Nutella.”
“What?”
“Omigod.” She gasped. “You know what Nutella is, don’t you?”
