Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1)

by Charlotte Stein

  Though it was only after he’d left that she fully appreciated the issue she’d caused.

  Her phone stayed free of his texts for the next three days.

  —

  She knew he was at the party. She overheard two girls talking about how amazing he looked tonight—and it was true. He did. The moment she saw him—standing all alone in the flickering glow of the bonfire someone probably shouldn’t have lit—her heart actually lurched. Her mouth went dry, her knees went weak, her head spun. For a second she was every cliché she’d ever read about girls who’d fallen hard for some guy, and she couldn’t fault herself for any of them.

  He was just that beautiful.

  She was allowed to admit now that he was beautiful. In truth she barely knew how she’d ever thought otherwise. Those brutal features were not brutal at all—they were so soft they almost seemed out of focus, so pretty he could have walked the runway tomorrow. The only thing that really marked him as a powerful man was that body. But you couldn’t really see it beneath the dark red sweater he was wearing, the scarf he had around his neck, and the hat, the woolen hat, oh lord she loved that woolen hat.

  It made him seem like falling leaves and spicy hot chocolate and a million things she probably shouldn’t think about right now, considering he was still mad. No texts for three days meant mad. He even looked mad, just standing there on his own without the armor of his buddies or a bunch of girls. Everyone seemed to know he needed a wide berth tonight, so it didn’t seem like that much of a reach.

  Until he turned his head her way and held up one oddly hesitant, half-faltering hand—as though he had no idea if he should say hello. He could see Lydia was on her way back across the field with two beers in hand after all. Maybe a wave would give the game away. Expose them, in a way he knew she didn’t want.

  So instead he folded that hand back down, waiting.

  Good god, he had been waiting for her to say it was okay.

  She could see he had, yet for a second that idea was so staggering to her it just cycled around and around in her mind without ever really making contact with anything. Lydia handed her a beer and she just accepted it mechanically, nodding at whatever her friend was saying but unable to hear it. She couldn’t even explain it. It felt like gravity had suddenly flipped, and now everyone was suddenly walking on the sky.

  Tate was not the one ashamed of their relationship.

  She, Letty Carmichael, thunder-thighed creature from the back of beyond, bane of their high school, scourge of anyone with eyesight, was the one.

  She was the one ashamed of him.

  And that was…god she didn’t know what that was. Her mouth wanted to both tense into a pained line and grin more wildly than she had ever done in her life. Feelings flooded her body, but she didn’t have a name for any of them. Most of them seemed too awful to name. They smelled like triumph, like victory, but they weren’t the kinds that she wanted anything to do with.

  Maybe before he had kissed her by her door.

  Or further back, when he had held her face.

  When he had made amends.

  And carried her.

  But not now, never now.

  Now she just wanted to go over to him. To tell him all the things she’d always longed for him to say to her: I didn’t mean it. I take it back. I’m sorry, I was a fool, I don’t know what I was thinking. All the things he had said to her, and was still saying right at this moment. She could practically see it written across his features. It was there when his brows knitted together as he waited for her to decide, and there again in the relief when she told Lydia she had to go see him and then started to walk his way.

  Had anything been as beautiful as that relief?

  That happiness, when she took hold of his hand?

  She knew he wouldn’t pull away, she knew it, she knew she had nothing to fear—and it was glorious. All of the wonder of the world was in that one moment, when she threaded her fingers through his. It was like rewriting the past, and having it stick. Like time traveling, to put right what once went wrong.

  And she knew he felt it, too.

  If he hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have brought her hand to his lips, to kiss. Right there in front of all the people milling around—his bros over by the keg and all the girls who adored him right down to their bones. In front of Lydia, who mouthed I knew it in a way that was both amazing and crazy, plastic cup raised in a silent salute that just about made it okay.

  Things were going to be okay.

  She could hear it in his voice when he asked, “Are you sure this is cool with you?”

  “I’m sure. Are you sure?”

  “You know I am.”

  And she did. She did know.

  How could anyone doubt, when he said it so softly, so gravely? He even glanced away after he’d told her, as if the emotion of doing it was just a little too much.

  Though that might have been Lydia drawing his attention.

  She pointed to her eyes and then pointed at him before turning to speak to Brad.

  Who was in fact wearing a shirt that showed off his delightful chest.

  “Your buddy looks kind of disapproving.”

  “Well, in her defense, you did Stockholm me.”

  “I want to deny it, but right now it kind of feels like I did.”

  “I’ll let you in on a secret: I went willingly to my doom.”

  “It will never be your doom. I promise you. I promise.”

  He squeezed her hand tight. As if he could imprint that promise on her skin.

  But really it was her, now, who needed to reassure him.

  “Not even if I’m an asshole who keeps you like a dirty secret?”

  “You weren’t an asshole. You protected yourself. I like that.”

  “It doesn’t seem like you like it.”

  “Not going to lie—it stings, too. But it’s a sweet kind of sting. Like the kind of thing you might get after taking a bullet in the shoulder for someone you love.”

  She had something planned to say, after hearing that first sting.

  But it started to melt at the idea of it being sweet. And then he got to the other part, the part about the bullet and the shoulder and the love, and the words dissolved altogether. She froze right where she was, looking up at him through the faintly smoky air. Half leaning on his arm, hand in his. Everything as it was, only he had just said those words.

  And now he was slowly becoming aware of that fact.

  She watched his eyes widen slightly, and then he jerked his gaze to her.

  “Oh. Oh no, wait…no, I meant…you know what I meant.”

  “Wow, okay, because for a second there…”

  “Yeah, for a second I was like in love with you after five minutes of friendship.”

  He laughed, while she tried not to think about how thin that sound was.

  It was probably just her imagination. Or his embarrassment over this mistake.

  “Right? Has it been five minutes? Because it feels like thirty seconds.”

  “Well, actually it’s been around a month, but I take your point.”

  “A month is still absolutely nothing.”

  “No, god no. It’s a tiny amount of time.”

  “And that bullet comment was totally cool enough.”

  “You like the bullet thing?”

  God, his tone was almost tentative.

  And so full of yearning.

  “I did. Like, a lot. I mean, I don’t want you to have a bullet lodged in your shoulder. But the fact that you would…that you have…that you don’t mind that much…”

  “I don’t mind that much.”

  “You know what? Me neither,” she said.

  Then hauled him down for a proper kiss.

  One that had lips and lots of tongue, and left him grinning like a buffoon.

  “If I had known it would have made you look this fucking giddy,” she said, “I would have kissed you in public waaaaay before now. Seriously, it’s weird that you’re
this happy about it. Like I’m having déjà vu, only with everything the opposite of how it should be.”

  “It’s not just the public thing. I was…thinking…”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” she said. “I heard it gives you wrinkles.”

  “I knew you only cared because I’m so pretty. I get ugly and it’s over.”

  “I will admit I do like your dewy, youthful skin.”

  “So that’s all I am to you. Skin,” Tate replied.

  “And ass. Oh my god, your ass. Do you have any idea what it’s like to actually be able to appreciate your ass? I used to tell myself it was like two rhinos wrestling in a sweaty sock.”

  “Fuck, why did you not use that as an insult in high school? That would have devastated me,” he said.

  She laughed at that. He laughed at it, too.

  Though she couldn’t help noticing the emphasis he put on the word devastated.

  Like he meant it, on some level. She had possessed the power to hurt him, even if she hadn’t known it.

  “Well, too late now. All I got is drool and two grabby hands.”

  “See this. This is what I was just grinning like a lunatic about. You realize we are actually a hundred percent dating right now? Like, we are absolutely together without eight miles of trauma standing between us and huge urges to hide everything and lots of pretending we are not mentally groping each other. This is real. You just said you want to grab my ass. I can totally tell you that I want to grab yours. I can say right out loud: I want to strip you down and kiss every inch of your hot little bod. And nobody cares.”

  She nodded in the direction of three girls.

  Three girls who had definitely overheard, if their reaction was anything to go by.

  “I think a few people care. One of the ladies who wanted your number just fainted. Two others gave me gestures that suggest if I don’t let you do that to me I’m an enormous idiot.”

  “Yeah, well they never had me create a toxic fog in their bathrooms.”

  “I think they would still find you super sexy.”

  “Uh-huh. I bet.”

  “But not as sexy as I find you.”

  His head went back at that, eyes rolling up.

  “Oh, say that again.”

  “I find you sexy.”

  “I think I could hear that a thousand times and not ever get tired of it.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to say it a thousand more.”

  “Not if I get there first.”

  It was his turn to kiss her then.

  So long and deep that even Chad looked a little weak at the knees at the sight.

  “Come on, I got a surprise for you. Over in that spooky abandoned barn over there.”

  He waved in its general direction, but she couldn’t see anything. Which was probably for the best.

  “You have a surprise for me. In an abandoned barn. That is spooky.”

  “Do you really have to say it like I did something crazy?”

  “Well, considering I last heard that line in a film called The Eyeball Eater…”

  “Nobody is going to eat your eyeballs, I promise.”

  She loved that he crossed his fingers, then clumsily and obviously hid them. As though he was playing on the perception of him as a big oaf, just for her. He was secure enough with her to seem like a fool.

  He knew she would laugh with him—and she did.

  “You say that, yet used suspicious powers to predict I would be here.”

  “I didn’t use psychic powers. Lydia told Brad and Brad told Chad and Chad told me.”

  “I can’t believe I know two people whose names end in ad. Or that you value their information.”

  “Hey, I value it because their information is solid. Look, here you are, coming with me to the place where they found a ton of cats with no eyes.”

  She glanced down at her feet, and sure enough, they were walking in his direction, as he sauntered backward in the direction of the place.

  “Ah, so the owner of the death barn practiced his evil trade on animals first.”

  “They always do. They always, always do,” Tate said.

  “You’re ridiculous. But I like it enough to tell Lydia I’ll see her later, and then join you in the probable nightmare barn,” she said as she turned to do just that. Though not before she saw him grin wildly.

  Then pump his fist, like a kid who’d just won the world.

  Chapter 19

  He was wrong about the place. It was dark and hollowed out, but not exactly spooky. Or at least she thought so until she stood inside, listening to the wind rattle the possible skeletons hiding in every shadowy corner. She even thought she saw something very skeletonlike, over by the tarpaulin-covered monster that lurked beneath the loft.

  It turned out to be just rusted tools.

  That looked like they were covered in blood.

  “Tate, come on. You know I’m afraid of being murdered by the scythe-wielding ghost of a disgruntled farmer. Even though I wasn’t until I saw something that looks very scythelike standing in the corner.”

  There was no reply—unless you counted the now-howling wind.

  So she just kept talking. Loudly, so as to ward off evil.

  “I mean, seriously, how old is this place that there is a scythe here? Was it abandoned in 1763? I feel like it can’t have been, considering the amount of corrugated steel. Which probably just leaves me with option three: the barn murderer is really into disemboweling people with old farm tools.”

  Still nothing. Eerily nothing, this time. It made her think of movies where the girl goes to look for her boyfriend, after they decide to have filthy, sinful sex. And then she opens a door like the one attached to the only stall in the place and—

  “Mwahahahaha, Letty, here I come to disem your bowels!”

  She did her best not to scream. And if he had only shouted such a ridiculous thing, she might have managed it. But he didn’t. He swooped in from somewhere behind her and got her right around the middle, then proceeded to lift her off her feet. The panicked shout was practically required.

  The gasp that followed, on the other hand…

  Well, that was something else altogether.

  And if it sounded a little like excitement, that was purely because it totally was. It always made her neglected, thrill-less heart lurch into her mouth, to feel him haul her up like that and swing her around. Doubly so when she thought about what he was to her. This was pretty much her boyfriend behaving like this. Having fun with her, as if this really was a horror movie with some cool couple who’d made it to the end.

  Still, she tried to play it off like it was nothing.

  “I want to kill you. I would kill you, if it were not for that awesome wordplay.”

  “Yeah I was pretty proud of that. Little bit worried you’d believe I thought disem was a word.”

  “I believe you are a huge jackass, that’s what I believe. How are we supposed to make out if I poop my pants? Tell me that, Tate. Tell me what the plan was then.”

  “Baby, I would still totally tongue kiss you if you messed yourself.”

  “That is the least romantic while still being the sexiest thing I ever heard.”

  “I’m just trying to keep your expectations low so that when we go up there it will seem way more awesome than it actually is. And also not at all creepy.”

  She glanced in the direction of his pointing finger—to the shadowy loft above.

  The one that you got up to using a ladder most likely made of old bones.

  “Why? What did you do? Dare I ask?”

  “It’s not so bad that you have to dare yourself to ask about it!”

  “Okay, but do I need protective face gear? Should I brace myself?”

  “I’m honestly not one hundred percent sure, because I’ve never actually tried anything like this. Plus you’re a real smart-ass, so it could end with your mockery ringing in my ears until the end of time.”

  She was pretty sure he didn’t in
tend to sound vulnerable. It just came out that way, sort of faint on the end and with too much emphasis on mockery.

  Plus there was the woolly hat.

  The woolly hat really didn’t help. It somehow made him look younger—like a big kid playing around in emotions he didn’t know how to deal with.

  “I won’t do that, come on. I promise, okay—I’ll be totally cool about it.”

  “Swear on the undead soul of the barn disemboweler.”

  “I swear. And you know it must be true now because if I’m lying, he gets to, like, eat my eyeballs.”

  “Right, exactly,” he said.

  But he still didn’t move. She had to prompt him, with a flourish of her hand and a lead the way, then. Followed by a lot of pretending that this was not a big deal. Sure, he had clearly planned this. And he had done so knowing that she might behave in front of everyone as if they were just study friends, and never come with him to this place at all. But none of that really meant anything.

  Not until she climbed the surprisingly sturdy ladder up to the loft and saw exactly how much he had done, with very little hope of it ever being recognized. He’d strung fairy lights across the hay-covered floor, and somehow powered them. They winked in the darkness like diamonds. And it didn’t stop there. There was also an honest-to-god picnic basket, full of the kinds of goodies she liked. A bottle of sparkling elderflower wine, because he knew she hated champagne; a tiny speaker playing the music she loved.

  And then there was him, eyeing her with a mixture of wariness and hope.

  All of which just really guaranteed the complete dissolving of her heart.

  “You really thought I was going to be a smart-ass about this?”

  “Well, that was what happened in the nightmare I had about how this would play out. Though you also took off your skin and revealed you were actually Coach underneath, so…I probably shouldn’t have put too much stock in it.”

  “Not unless you’re secretly crazy about him.”

  He shook his head, but he didn’t laugh.

  Instead, he said, “No. Just you.”

  Then held her gaze until it started to destroy her.