The Unexpcted Complications of Revenge

by Jessica Sorensen

  Those butterflies come to life again.

  Goddammit, they’re getting out of control!

  I keep a blank expression. “Seriously?”

  His forehead furrows as he releases his hold on my arm. “Seriously, what?”

  “ ‘Your eyes are too gorgeous,’ ” I make air quotes. “How many times has that line worked for you?”

  “Truthfully?” he asks, surprising me—I thought he was going to pretend to be clueless.

  I nod. “If you’re offering the truth, then yeah.”

  “I am. And to answer your question: not once.”

  I stare at him in doubt. “You really expect me to believe that?”

  “Um, yeah, because it’s the truth.” He uses his free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

  A damp strand of hair.

  I really wish he’d stop doing that. Out of all the times to touch my hair, he decides to do it while I have hat hair. Then again, my normal hair isn’t much better.

  “So, what you’re saying is that you expect me to believe that you’ve never told another girl that her eyes are gorgeous?” I question. “Ever?”

  He nods. “You’re the first.”

  I resist an eye roll. “Sure I am.”

  “You don’t believe me?” He cocks his brow just like I did a few seconds ago, only his comes off sexy, while mine probably came off more idiotically confused. “Huh, this might be a first, too.”

  “What? Having a girl doubt your truthfulness?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes glitter with amusement. “It’s an … interesting feeling.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?”

  He takes a step closer to me. “I guess so, since I just used my first gorgeous eyes line on you.”

  Even though his nearness sends my heart into a fit of flutters, I step away from him. “Sure you did.”

  He chews on his bottom lip as he fights back a smile. “You know what? I think I’m sensing a challenge coming on.”

  I swiftly shake my head. “I’m not into challenges.”

  He takes another step toward me. “Oh, I think you are. You just don’t want to admit it.”

  I start to move back, bumping into the wall. “You don’t know me, Carter, so don’t pretend like you do.”

  “But I do know you,” he insists, daring another step toward me. “From that secret conversation we had that you can’t remember, but that definitely happened. Best conversation of my life, by the way.”

  I point a finger at him. “Now, I know that’s a line since you told me the same thing yesterday while we were on the phone.”

  “No, I said that was the best conversation I’ve had in a long time.” He’s on the verge of smiling as he reduces the last bit of space between us with another step.

  He’s so close that his chest presses against the finger I’m pointing at him. His chest that’s solid. Really, really solid.

  I swallow hard, mostly to stop myself from drooling.

  Get a grip over yourself, Ensley. He’s hot; so what? You’ve always known that. Just like you’ve always known he’s a jerk.

  His lips tug up into a cocky smirk, the smirk I’ve seen him use multiple times, including on me. That smirk is usually followed by a mocking joke, like, hey, I think Ensley was just checking me out. What do you think? Should I give her a chance? And yes, he actually said that to Holden once when I was at his house with Elodie. Elodie had left the room to get a snack, so I was alone when they wandered into the living room.

  Holden had replied with a, “I don’t know, man. She might be kind of hard to handle … She looks intense.”

  Carter stared at me for an unnerving amount of time, as if searching for a hidden weakness. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’m probably better off with someone like Stella or Jane.”

  “What do you think, Ensley?” Holden asked me. “Do you think Carter should go for Stella or Jane?”

  Knowing they were teasing me, I stayed quiet and tried to focus on the television. But they didn’t take the hint, or didn’t care, and sat down beside me on the leather sofa, squishing me between them.

  The overwhelming scent of cologne engulfed my nostrils, but not in a bad way. No, I liked the smell more than I wanted to admit. It was another thing I liked about Carter, and I hate it.

  Carter draped his arm across the back of the sofa. “So, you think I’d be better off with Stella or Jane?” he whispered, his mouth close to my ear.

  His breath smelled like whiskey, and I realized they were both drunk. That sent any hope of getting them to back off flying out the window and into the night sky.

  I sucked in a discreet inhale through my nose, crossing my fingers they couldn’t tell how nervous I was. “You can do whatever you want.”

  He combed his fingers through my hair and a smile played at the corners of his lips. “Anything I want? Really? Well, in that case, I want to k—”

  Elodie walked into the room and glared at Carter. “Leave her alone.”

  Carter raised his hands in front of him. “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Sure you aren’t.” Her eyes shot daggers at him. “You’re always doing something.”

  “God, you’re so uptight, just like Mom,” Carter sneered, stumbling to his feet.

  Holden tapped fists with Carter. “Nice one.”

  Elodie’s lip twitched, and then she threw the bottle of soda she was carrying.

  Carter ducked to get out of the way, but Holden moved too slow and the bottle hit him square in the gut. Holden started cursing while Carter started chewing Elodie out. And Elodie argued back, demanding that Carter take back what he said.

  And me? I sat there quietly, wishing they would all stop, like I did every time I was around people fighting.

  “Earth to Ens.” Carter waves his hand in front of my face. “Are you still with me?”

  I bob my head up and down, blinking back to reality. “I was just thinking about some stuff.”

  “What sort of stuff?” he asks, eyeing me curiously.

  I shake my head. “Nothing I want to talk about.”

  He juts out his lip.

  I’m not a fan of pouting, but dammit, he makes it look so sexy.

  “Even with me?” he asks, batting his eyelashes. Yes, actually fucking batting his eyelashes.

  I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Not even with you.”

  He sighs, but a teasing glint glimmers in his eyes. “Fine, you keep your secrets, and I’ll keep mine. But when you’re ready to trade, let me know.” Then he slants forward and places his palms on the wall, trapping my head between his arms. “You know, I actually do have something I need to talk to you about. I didn’t just ask to talk to you alone so we could flirt.”

  “Flirt?” I pronounce the word slowly as I process what he just said. “I wasn’t flirting.” I’m not even sure I know how.

  He rolls his tongue in his mouth as if restraining a laugh. “If you say so.”

  I lightly swat his chest. “I do say so.”

  A laugh escapes him. “Now you’re definitely flirting.”

  When heat floods my cheeks, his lips expand into a haughty grin.

  “Now that’s cute.” He removes one hand from the wall and drags his thumb across my cheekbone, making a slow path along my jawline to my lips.

  My mouth goes dry as I’m thrown out of my comfort zone.

  I’m not stupid. Something strange is going on. Something that is more than likely going to end in disaster. I know I shouldn’t react to his touch, but I’ve been crushing on the guy for almost ten years. I can’t not react. Plus, I’ve never had my lips touched by a guy before. Never been kissed. Never been pinned against a wall. Never ever. That’s a lot of nevers. And I loathe that almost all of those nevers are happening right now while I’m only supposed to be pretending. And Carter probably is, too.

  But I can’t help the desire pouring through my body. I want to suck on his thumb, graze my teeth across it. Then I want to lean f
orward and kiss him. My first kiss, and I want it to be with him.

  Even after everything.

  I shake my head at myself. I really do have problems.

  “Why did you want to talk to me?” I try to direct the conversation away from cute remarks and lip touching, even though the way he drags his thumb across my lips feels wonderful. Like dancing out in the rain on a warm day after spending hours reading your favorite book sort of wonderful.

  He stops moving his thumb, a pucker forming at his brow. “I …” He blinks like a lost baby deer.

  I’m sure my expression matches his. Why is he perplexed?

  “You said you wanted to talk to me about something alone,” I try to clarify. “Remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” He stares at me for an unnerving amount of time before withdrawing his thumb from my lips. Then he steps back, putting space between us and leaving a mixture of relief and disappointment whirling inside me. “I just wanted to make sure you dressed appropriately for where we’re going Saturday night.” The playfulness in his voice is gone and now replaced with formalness. “The place we’re going has a dress code.”

  “Okay.” What did I say that’s making him act so cold? Or did the old, moody Carter take over the playful Carter I’ve been talking to on and off for the last couple of days? “What am I supposed to wear?”

  “You can wear whatever you want, just as long as you don’t wear any open-toed shoes, like sandals or something. And while it’s not required, the owners prefer you wear some sort of red and black, even if it’s just a necklace or something simple like that.”

  “That seems a little strange,” I say. “Where exactly are we going?” Although, I’m starting to wonder if it’s a club.

  And a club means dancing, something I’m not that great at. And knowing Carter, the club will probably be a fancy one.

  “It’s a surprise, remember?” He almost smiles, yet kind of looks sad and lost. “And remember, you have about an hour after I pick you up to prove to me that I can trust you. Or else, I’m just going to have to take you on a normal movie date and you’re going to end up missing out on some serious fun.”

  “Some serious fun that has a dress code?” Skepticism seeps into my tone.

  “Hey, don’t mock the dress code,” he teases with a wink, but his playfulness feels more forced now. He starts to reach toward me, then hesitates and returns his hand to his side. “I have to go. I’m supposed to eat lunch with my family in, like, an hour.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” I glance at the clock on the wall across from me. Lovely. I’ve been standing here for almost fifteen minutes. My aunt and mom are probably wondering where I am.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” It’s not a statement, but a question. I don’t know why since I agreed to go with him yesterday, but I nod, anyway. He frees a loud breath. “Good. I’ll see you at five thirty.”

  He starts to turn away, but then glances back at me. His lips part then shut. Part then shut. Then his gaze drops to my lips. He stares momentarily before shaking his head and plastering on a smile. Then he strolls down toward the end of the hallway.

  I stand there, feeling lost and dazed, and at least ten other different conflicting emotions. Most of all, I feel confused. Because all through that conversation, he wasn’t acting like the Carter I know.

  Maybe that revelation should bring me some comfort, but all I feel as I head for the back area of the gymnasium is lost. Lost in a plan that I supposedly have control over.

  Yeah, I’m really starting to worry that might not be the case.

  I retrieve my phone from my pocket as I enter the back area of the gym and text Elodie.

  Me: Hey, so I just got done talking to Carter …

  Elodie: And …?

  Me: And he just wanted to tell me there’s a dress code for this place we’re going to on our date tomorrow.

  Elodie: Huh?

  Me: Yeah, I was confused, too. Not sure what sort of places have a required dress code, but I’m guessing it’s a club.

  Elodie: You’re probably right. The question is, which one? Tell me the dress code and maybe I can figure it out.

  I text her back the list Carter gave me, but she doesn’t respond instantly. Figuring she’s busy with her family, I hurry and slip my robe off and hand it to the woman sitting next to the rack full of robes. She asks for my name then checks over the robe before telling me I’m good to go.

  After pushing through the crowd for a bit, I spot my mom, but she’s alone.

  “Where’s Aunt Bethany?” I ask her.

  She seems a bit tense for some reason, but quickly puts on a smile. “She’s meeting us at the restaurant.”

  “Oh, Okay.” I pause, wondering why she appeared tense when I walked up. “Is everything okay? You seem, like, I don’t know, upset about something.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just a little emotional about how fast you’ve grown up.” She gets a funny look on her face as her gaze strays to my hair. “Where’d you get the rose?”

  Crap, I forgot Carter put that in my hair.

  Not wanting to tell my mom that Carter gave it to me, I shrug. “Some girl just came up and gave it to me. I’m not sure why, but I’m guessing they’re handing them out for graduation.”

  “That’s a little strange.” She loops her arm through mine as we step outside beneath the sunlight. A faraway, dreamy look glazes in her eyes as we start across the grass toward the parking lot. “Maybe some guy sent his sister to give you the rose because he has a crush on you and is too scared to do it himself.”

  “I really doubt that,” I say, hating lying to her, but telling her Carter gave the rose to me is going to lead to her asking a lot of questions.

  And if I end up telling her about the date, she’ll probably be upset, because I know she has to loathe Carter. Sure, she doesn’t know about mine and Carter’s history—what he said to me in third grade and that he’s teased me ever since then—but she works for his family. And I’ve heard Carter say stuff about the cleaning people. It was one of the main reasons I decided to play this whole make-Carter-fall-in-love-with-me game to begin with.

  She frowns. “Why? You’re a beautiful girl, Ens. Plus, you’re smart and funny and talented. I’m sure there are a lot of guys who think you’re an amazing girl.”

  I hold back another laugh that wants to burst from my lips. “Um, I hate to break it to you, Mom, but no guys have crushes on me or have ever had crushes on me. And guys don’t care if a girl is smart, funny, and talented. They only want beautiful girls. Well, not all guys, but some.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. I bet a lot of guys have crushes on you and they’re just too afraid to tell you.” She steers me toward our car parked in the back row near the field beside the school. “And I hate that you don’t realize how beautiful you are.”

  “Trust me; I know what I am.” When she blasts me with a doubtful look, I sigh. “Look, I appreciate the attempt at boosting my confidence, but I accepted who I am a long time ago, and I’m perfectly okay with it.” Most days, anyway.

  She sighs heavily. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy with yourself, even if you have a misconstrued self-perception.”

  “Man, that psych class went to your head, didn’t it?” I tease as I round the car toward the passenger side.

  Recently, my mom started taking college classes at night so she can obtain a business degree, and one of her electives was psychology. As soon as she started the class, I noticed a change in her behavior. And by change, I mean she started overanalyzing everything I did. Still does, even though the class has been over for a semester.

  “For your information, I find them interesting and insightful,” she says as she unlocks the car. “I’m sure you’ll take a couple when you start college and feel the same way.”

  “I don’t know. That all depends on what I decide to major in.” I open the car door and slide into the seat. “That is, if I ever decide.”

  “It’s perfectly fine to be un
decided for a while.” She slips the keys into the ignition and starts up the engine. “In fact, it might be better to take your time and really figure out what you want to do, instead of picking something you don’t like or changing your major every semester.”

  “You say that like you know someone who did that.” I draw my seatbelt over my shoulder. “Who was it?”

  She shrugs, but her jaw sets tight and pain floods her eyes.

  Any next words die in my throat.

  She only gets that look in her eyes whenever she’s thinking about my dad, which means my dad’s the one who constantly changed majors.

  I wonder if he went to college before or after I was born. I wonder what he finally got his degree in. I wonder what he’s doing now. These are all questions I keep to myself, knowing my mom won’t answer them and will end up getting more upset.

  Besides, in reality, I’m not sure I ever want to know about my dad. Or meet him. Sure, I may search for him in a crowd every now and again, but if I ever came face to face with the father who abandoned me, I might lose my shit.

  “You want to stop and get some ice cream before we eat lunch?” she changes the subject as she backs out of the parking space.

  “You’re such a bad example,” I joke, trying to make her smile, hating it when she’s upset. “Dessert before lunch? What kind of mom are you?”

  She smiles, but the movement is forced.

  “Sure.”

  And once again, I’m left wondering who my dad is and what in the heck happened between him and my mom to make her react this way every time she thinks about him.

  12

  Carter

  I’m sure at this point I’m coming off as the moodiest asshole ever, and perhaps I deserve the title. I know I’m being moody. I can’t help it. Ensley is driving me crazy. Not like crazy, as in, I can’t stand her sort of way. Crazy, as in, I can’t read her at all, but God do I want to. I’m usually good at picking up on people’s vibes. Never with Ensley, though. The only exception to this is the first time I talked to her—when I crushed her—and that secret conversation I mentioned where she helped me in more ways than she realizes. I wasn’t lying. It was the best conversation of my life. I just wish she remembered it.