I stifle a groan and let my lower lip brush hers. Through some superhuman display of self-control, I don’t kiss her. Not yet.
“Give up?” she whispers.
“Nope.”
“You enjoy this torture, then?”
In answer, my mouth feathers over the corner of hers, first one side, then the other. She squirms underneath me. Then I trail over to her earlobe and tug it gently between my teeth, feeling maniacally triumphant when she emits a little squeak.
That sound totally does me in. Hand cupping her chin, I pull her face toward mine and finally press my lips to hers. I tease her mouth open and taste her. She tastes me back and that same heady mix from last night—something both soft and fierce—nearly smothers me.
She’s just hooked one leg around my hip, wrapping me in pure freaking heaven, when my stomach growls against hers. She freezes, her mouth open on mine. Then she starts laughing. I let out a frustrated groan and bury my face in the slope where her neck meets her shoulder.
“Hungry?” she asks, still laughing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shuts up when I kiss her neck, literally some of my best work, but then my stomach whines even louder and she busts up again.
I roll off her and pat my gut. “Insistent little bastard, isn’t he?”
“I have some cupcakes in my car.”
I perk up at that. All my nervousness vanished with the first touch, and now my hunger—at least for something other than Hadley—takes over. “Yeah?”
“My dad got them this morning, but . . .”
I swallow around the sudden boulder in my throat. “Hadley, if you want to talk about—”
“I’ll go get them.” She pretty much catapults herself to her feet, pulling her sweater down over her hips and jogging away before I can say another word. Her form gets smaller and smaller in the late afternoon light until she reaches her car parked on the street.
When she gets back, her bag slung over her shoulder, her expression is a mask of impassivity. I don’t ask about her mom. Maybe that makes me an asshole, but it’s pretty obvious she doesn’t want to talk about her family. God knows I don’t.
An exhausted-looking woman with a brood of four redheads arrives and takes over the playground, so we retreat to the picnic area at the edge of the park and sit cross-legged on top of a wooden table. Hadley pops open a box from the Green-Eyed Girl and offers me a chocolate cupcake the size of my hand. I devour it in two bites and start in on my second before she even gets the wrapper off her first. When she takes a big bite, chocolate frosting glazes her upper lip and chin.
“Messy much?” I ask, and try to thumb off the icing.
“Hey, I like it there.” She swats me away.
“Yeah? It’s sorta cute. Like a little prepubescent-boy-stache.”
“I think you need one.” Before I can react, she swipes a handful of frosting off an uneaten cupcake and smears it down my entire face.
My jaw drops in shock. A big glob of sugary goo falls off my nose and catches on my lower lip. I scrape it off with my forefinger and hold it up. “You did not just do that.”
“Do what?”
She smirks at me like she’s the cutest damn thing on two legs. Which she probably is, but that’s beside the point when there’s more frosting on my face than there is skin. Just as she opens her mouth to take another bite of her cupcake, I take aim and flick the icing off my finger. It smacks her squarely on the forehead.
After that, it’s all-out war. I grab two more cupcakes and scramble to my feet, running to take cover behind a big oak tree. She stalks after me, a cupcake in each hand, and pelts me with little cake bullets that end up in my hair and all over my shirt. I barrel toward her and she squeals when I hook my arm around her waist and stuff a whole cupcake down the back of her sweater. The entire battle, I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. At one point, I’m pretty sure Hadley snorts some chocolate up her nose.
“Okay, okay! Truce!” I hold up my empty hands in surrender.
“Oh, thank God.” She shakes out her fingers, sending tiny crumbles of cake flying to the ground.
I wipe my palms on my jeans. When I get them clean enough, I close my hands around the sleeves of her sweater and pull her closer so I can kiss a spot of chocolate off her cheek.
She laughs. “Tasty?”
“Mm-hm.” I really just want to start licking every dot of icing I see on her, but considering there are now two wholesome families running around on the playground, I force myself to resist.
“We’re a complete mess,” she says, trying to slick some frosting out of my hair. “I think I have some napkins in my glove compartment.”
We make our way to her car and wipe ourselves down with a bunch of scratchy brown napkins from Starbucks. Glancing across the street, I see my mom’s car in our driveway. “I should go. Livy’s probably starving and if I leave it to my mom, she’ll be eating condensed soup or some shit like that for dinner.”
“Oh, right.” She looks down at her feet, worrying at her lower lip. “I need to go too.”
There’s a cold clench in my gut. I look toward my house again and try to figure out if there’s any way I can smuggle her inside without my mom noticing. I squeeze my eyes shut, pissed off all over again at the crap between me and Hadley that she doesn’t even know about. All the shit I can’t hide from, even under a mountain of chocolate cupcakes.
I slip my hand to the nape of her neck and kiss her forehead. “This was really fun.”
She nods and tilts her head up to meet my eyes. “It was more than fun.”
“Amusing?”
“Pleasant?”
I shake my head. “Enjoyable?”
“Convivial?”
“Nice one. How about blissful?”
She laughs. “Are you trying to out-synonym me, Sam?”
“Oh. Yeah, actually I am.” I scratch at my chin, scraping off some more icing. “Livy and I do this sometimes. Sorry, it’s sort of a habit, I guess.”
“Sounds like something I would do with my dad,” she says quietly, squinting into the setting sun.
I pull her closer and press my face to the top of her head. She smells like grass and sugar. Her arms come around my back so that we’re a just a tangle of chocolate and cotton and skin.
“Sam?” she asks after a few minutes, her voice muffled in my jacket.
“Hmm?”
“I want this.”
I pull back so I can look at her. My stomach roils with the need to sit her down and tell her the truth, but the words jumble together in my head. My heart balls up like tinfoil, because I know this isn’t about Livy anymore, if it ever was. It’s not about our parents or those notes or who screwed who more than six months ago. I’ve kept my mouth shut because I want to hold on to this girl standing in front of me.
Hold on and run like hell.
So I tell her the only true thing I can.
“Me too.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Hadley
Kat slides into the seat next to me, startling me from the world of ridiculous misunderstandings in Much Ado About Nothing. My pen pops out of my hand and lands on the filthy cafeteria floor, which is stained with a couple decades’ worth of mac and cheese and taco sauce.
“Oops.” She crawls on all fours to get my rogue pen. “Sorry.”
“Kat, gross. Just leave it.”
“No, I got it.” She hands me the pen, which I take gingerly between my thumb and forefinger.
“Blech.” I drop it onto the table and retrieve one not coated in MRSA from my bag.
“You are such an old lady sometimes.” Kat’s mouth quirks into a diffident half smile. She’s tried to talk to me several times in the past two weeks, but I’ve been unresponsive. I’ve got enough to think about without her making me feel like crap about Sam.
“Mm.” I turn away from her, munching on a french fry. My eyes wander through the crowd, past the blue and gold spirit banners for toni
ght’s football game, and find Sam across the room, tray piled with three grilled cheese sandwiches and two oranges. He weaves through the sea of tables toward me, but when he spots Kat and me sitting in a bubble of discomfort, he halts. I catch his eye, imploring him to come and mediate, but he shakes his head and mouths, Talk to her, before sitting down with Josh-freaking-Ellison.
“How are your parents?” Kat asks.
I take a deep breath without looking at her. The last two weeks have gone by in a blur of school, constant wondering about my mother, and avoiding Kat and my father. Only Sam has kept me from bludgeoning my head against a wall, and I’ve spent nearly every free minute with him. I’ve talked to Mom on the phone every day, but the conversation is strained and alternates between long silences and a barrage of meaningless questions like what sweater I’m wearing or whether or not I think the school’s football team will make the playoffs.
Dad is a whole other ball of weird. We’ve barely spoken since our fight the day Mom left. He doesn’t call when I miss dinner and hide out at Sam’s. He doesn’t insist on sushi Thursdays. He doesn’t ask me about the Kite Festival. He doesn’t tell me whether or not he and Mom talk, and I don’t ask. I thought I’d be relieved on the day he finally backed off a little—instead I just feel hollow.
“Hadley,” Kat says when I don’t answer her.
I look down at my book, eyes scanning but seeing nothing.
“Listen, I’m sorry.”
“Kat, do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”
She frowns and looks away. Her cheeks twitch the way they do when she’s about to cry.
“Yeah. I didn’t think so.” I turn back to Much Ado, but she covers the book with her hand.
“Hadley, stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Just . . . stop. Stop acting like I’m a bitch who isn’t on your side. Because I am. You just . . .” She exhales, deflating. “Look, I miss you, okay?”
“Right. You weren’t too fond of me last time we talked. Besides, it’s only been two weeks since—”
“No. It’s been six months.”
I stare at her, speechless.
She sighs, squirming in her seat as she tucks her hair behind both ears. “Listen, I know the circumstances sucked, but I was still excited when you moved here. Finally, we got to live in the same town. But you haven’t been the same since all that stuff with your parents happened. I know that’s expected, but sometimes I just wish . . .”
“What?”
“You’re still you, but you’re not. You quit swimming and started disappearing with guys like it was no big deal, which if that’s really what you want to do, fine, but yeah, it sort of made me mad. People talked about you all the time and I felt like a little kid next to you. I don’t even know what you’re doing with these guys. Not that I want all the details, but how do I know you haven’t had—”
“I haven’t.”
“But you never talk to me. Not about anything that matters.”
I close my eyes. “I haven’t done that.”
She looks at me with eyebrows raised, like she’s waiting for me to go on, but then nods. “See? That. Right there. No explanation. Just yes and no and I don’t know.”
“Kat, come on—”
“And you’re so pissed off. All. The. Time. And you like being that way. I feel . . . I don’t know. Like you don’t need me anymore.”
I sigh, anger seeping out of me in a slow leak. “Kat, you’re the only reason I haven’t lost my sanity in all this. You know that, right?”
She shakes her head and shrugs. “I just miss you.”
I reach over and wrap my arms around her. I don’t know what else to do. “I’m right here,” I say, but I’m not exactly sure what I mean by that. Who’s here? The old Hadley, a girl who smiled easily and believed in trust and love and possibility? Or the new Hadley, this conflicted, angry girl I didn’t even realize had infiltrated my body?
I pull back and try to smile. I know I should apologize too—for hanging up on her the day Mom left, for ignoring her for nearly two weeks. But something pulls the apology in deeper, yanking it into a complicated knot in my chest. One I’m not ready to try to unravel. Instead, I let the smile take over and change the subject. “You don’t have to worry about me kissing a bunch of different guys anymore.”
“Really?” Her eyes light up in a way that almost feels insulting. “Why not?”
She wanted me to talk to her, right? I take and deep breath and I tell her about Sam.
“Oh. My. God. Hadley!” Kat squeals, then her expression takes a plunge. “Oh, my God, Hadley. I’m the worst friend ever. Last time we talked. I gave you all that crap about him. I just figured—”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I’m so sorry. You really like him?”
I shrug and bite my lip. I could sear a steak on my face right now.
“You do! You really like him!”
“Sheesh, keep it down. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? You, Hadley St. Clair, are blushing about a boy, and that’s not a big deal?”
I press my hands to my cheeks. “Kat, I’m begging you.”
“Is he a good kisser? He looks like he’d be a good kisser.”
More heat creeps up my neck, and I smile but keep my mouth firmly shut.
“Wow.” She grins broadly. “I mean, I-think-the-sky-is-falling wow.”
“Wow what?” Sam asks from behind me.
We both jump and Kat emits a cute little yelp.
“Um . . .” I stammer as he brushes my hair back from my neck and sits down, tossing an orange between his hands. “Wow . . . that Rob . . . talked to Kat today.”
Kat’s eyes widen, but she nods, going with it.
“Rob Graham?” Sam asks, eyebrows low.
“Yeah, you know him?”
“He’s in my gym class.” He glances at Kat, clearly wary. “He’s kind of a dick.”
“Is he?” I ask. Kat’s mouth drops open.
Sam steals a cold fry off my plate. “A locker room is a litmus test for douches. Rob’s strip is acidic red. Trust me.”
“What did he do?” I’m totally intrigued. Neither Kat nor I know Rob all that well. He and Kat have always gone to school together and he’s on the swim team with her, but they’ve exchanged all of five words in the past five years.
Sam shrugs again, breaking the orange’s skin with his thumbnail. “Nothing that I’ve witnessed. It’s just his whole attitude, toward girls in particular. The other day I heard him telling some of the guys about a date with Rebecca Vansant. He told her that more than a handful is a waste. I mean, what guy actually says that to a girl? What an ass.”
Given the fact that Rebecca has to wrangle on two sports bras during our own gym class, I decipher Rob’s meaning pretty quickly. Kat’s eyes widen and I wrinkle my nose in disgust while Sam winces apologetically.
“Forget Rob,” I say. “He’s not even real, remember? What about Ajay?” I waggle my eyebrows at Kat and she flushes pink.
“Um. I don’t know. He hasn’t called me.”
Sam becomes extremely interested in his orange, peeling it like he’s handling a newborn baby.
“Did you call him?” I ask Kat.
She just blinks at me.
“Sam?” I ask, drawing out his name and leaning toward him.
“What?”
“What’s up with Ajay?”
He shrugs, shoving half the orange in his mouth.
“Sam Bennett.” I pinch his thigh under the table.
“Hey, now.” He grabs my fingers and pulls my arm around his neck. “If I did know something—and I’m not saying that I do—I couldn’t tell you. Bros before—”
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.” I yank my arm back.
“I was going to say ‘beautiful girls,’ but you didn’t let me finish.”
“Right.”
Kat looks stricken. Her eyebrows bunch together. I e
lbow Sam and motion toward her with my chin. He splays his hands in helplessness.
“I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon,” he finally says, but Kat nods and tries to shrug like she doesn’t care.
“I’ve gotta go meet with Coach Torrenti. He wants to talk to Josh and me about some co-captain thing.” He twirls a piece of my hair around his finger. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing. Why?” I respond vaguely, distracted by Josh waving at Sam from across the cafeteria. Next to Jenny Kalinski. A slow cold coats my stomach.
Sam tips my chin toward his face, forcing my eyes on his. “We need to go on a real date.”
“A date?”
“You’ve heard of them, right? Two people, soft music, romantic atmosphere.”
“Are we going on a date or ballroom dancing?”
He pokes me in the ribs. “Maybe both. Tonight. You and me.”
I blink at him and feel my face go slack. How did I end up as one half of a you and me? But he’s smiling, studying my face with such care that all my questions dissolve.
“Okay,” I say. “You and me.”
“Wear something comfortable,” he says, standing. “No skirts or jeans.”
“Wait. Like sweatpants?”
“Just something . . . you know, comfy but not too loose.”
“She has these really tight, stretchy yoga pants,” Kat suggests, pointing at me with a baby carrot. “Although those pants have never experienced a downward-facing dog.”
My face heats up as Sam presses his tongue to his top lip, clearly trying not to laugh. Kat crunches her carrot, oblivious that her words came out sounding vaguely dirty.
“Those sound like a great choice,” Sam finally says, lifting his eyebrows at me.
“What are you up to?”
He grins and leans down to kiss me, citrus-scented fingers curling into my hair. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Yo, Bennett!” Josh calls. I swivel my head toward his voice and narrow my eyes into a glare. Unfortunately, Josh has mastered the art of avoiding my gaze, but Jenny’s eyes find mine and for a split second we stare at each other. Her expression is hard to read, but it’s not angry or even sad. It’s just . . . curious.
Suffer Love Page 16
