Sitting up on my bed, I look around the room. It’s nowhere near the space I left behind up the street. Gone are my navy blue walls and the wonky shelves my dad had put up badly when I was a kid that held my football trophies from over the years. Instead, they’re in boxes, stacked with a load of other stuff in the corner. I’ve only unpacked the necessary stuff in the hope that if I don’t move in completely, it means we’re not staying all that long. It might be wishful thinking.
This room’s been Clint’s office for as long as I can remember. It was always off bounds to us as kids. We made it our top priority to break in and find out why on many occasions. We assumed, the naive kids that we were, that there was something worth finding. We were disappointed every time we snuck in here to only find a bookcase of boring IT books, a huge computer with more monitors that I’m sure any one person actually needs, and old coffee cups that had been there so long they were growing things.
The last time was the only time we found something to make the risk of sneaking in worthwhile. There was a bottle of half empty whiskey sitting on the desk next to Clint’s keyboard.
“You ever wondered what that stuff tastes like?” Camila asked.
We were probably twelve or thirteen at the time, both of us had had the odd sip of wine that our parents had allowed with our dinner and both of us at that point had turned our noses up, not understanding why our parents were so fascinated with it.
Hard liquor though, the amber liquid that our dads drank when they got together for an evening. Not a drop of that stuff had passed my lips and I’d be lying to say I wasn’t curious.
Giggling like the naughty kid she was, Camila wrapped her slim fingers around the neck of the bottle and twisted the top.
Both of us kept an eye on the door the entire time. We were alone in the house, but we had no idea how long it would stay that way.
I watched as she lifted the bottle to her lips and poured a generous amount into her mouth. The second she swallowed, she started sputtering, her eyes going wide as it burned down her throat.
“Oh my god. That’s…” She coughed, her eyes watering. “Awful. Here.”
I laughed at the fact I had to join in even though she so obviously regretted drinking it. I was a little more hesitant when I lifted the bottle and only took a small sip. Honestly, I didn’t think it was so bad, but when I looked up to find Camila staring at the bottle in my hands like it actually offended her, I followed her lead. “Yuck.”
I lowered the bottle as something flashed in Camila’s eyes.
“It couldn’t have been that bad, maybe I had too much.” She waved her hand out for the bottle and took another sip.
Thirty minutes later and we were both drunk, although we had no idea at the time. Life was great as we laughed and messed about in Clint’s office before we were caught.
To this day, I remember the look on Camila’s face as Clint and Gabriella took me by the arms and marched me back down the street for my own parents to reprimand me, not only for breaking and entering but stealing and getting drunk. She looked at me like her parents were taking her right arm from her. Her eyes dropped and her bottom lip trembled. She didn’t care we’d been caught, she just wanted us to serve our punishment out together, but our parents all knew that the best way to punish us was to keep us apart.
Pushing my memories back down, I swing my legs from the bed to take a shower and head to Ethan’s. He might have only had a party last night, but seeing the messages that have come through in the past hour, it seems he’s at it again. Twice in a weekend is unusual for him, but I may as well go and see what the hell’s going on.
I pull the door open and step into the quiet hallway, ready to head for the bathroom when something, or someone, slams into me.
“Fuck,” I grunt, the force of the collision making my breath catch.
Her sob hits my ears before I get a chance to look down, my arms instinctively wrapping around her, and I hold her against me for a beat. The feeling is too fucking good but when she starts fighting I don’t resist. It shouldn’t feel that good.
“Get the fuck off me,” she wails, loud enough to wake my brothers. I want to tell her to be quiet, but the look on her face as she takes a step back steals my words.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” She has tears streaming down her face and her eyes are red. This hasn’t just started.
She sucks in a few shaky breaths as she stares down at the carpet beneath our feet.
“Don’t make me say it,” she whispers so quietly that I have to lean in toward her to hear. Her strawberry scent fills my nose, and that mixed with her state tugs at my chest in a way I’m not all that happy about.
“Say what?” My brows draw together as I stare at her, trying to figure out how I should know what’s going on right now.
“Oh don’t look at me like that.” She lifts her hands and wipes her cheeks with the back of each. “Like you’re concerned. You’ve been waiting for this to happen.”
“Waiting for what?” I ask hesitantly, slowly putting two and two together in my head.
She huffs out a frustrated breath. “You were right, okay? Does that make you feel better? Make you feel like the winner? You were right, I was an idiot and look where it got me. You happy seeing my world fall apart?”
“What happened?” I seethe, ignoring all her other comments and needing to know exactly what I’m dealing with.
“Noah,” she sobs, her bottom lip starting to tremble again as her memories of whatever’s happened hit her. “He’s fucking her.”
“Motherfucker,” rumbles up my throat. My fists clench with my need to lay into him again for ever hurting her.
“Why are you so fucking angry? You wanted this.”
My mouth drops as a humorless laugh falls from my lips. “I didn’t fucking want this.” I wave my hand around in front of her but keeping it far enough away from her that I won’t be tempted to pull her into my arms once again. “I warned you. I told you what he was up to but you chose not to believe me.”
She stares at me, her eyes turning hard, argument forming, but it never leaves her mouth.
“I’m so fucking stupid.”
She drops her head into her hands and cries. “Excuse me,” she mumbles into her palms and goes to move past me. But she doesn’t get to take a step before my arms shoot out to stop her.
I push her back against the wall when she tries to run from me. “Mason, don’t. I don’t need—”
My hand cups her cheek and forces her to look up at me. The sadness swimming in her eyes guts me. No one else should have the power to hurt her like this. Noah’s a worthless motherfucker, and I’m so fucking glad she’s learned the truth.
“Mason?” My name is almost a plea on her lips as she stares up at me. There’re only inches between us, our increased breaths mingling as the silence stretches out around us.
“You need to forget him. He doesn’t deserve your tears.”
“I—”
The sound of footsteps on the stairs beneath us filters up and I panic. Gripping Camila’s arms, I pull her into my room and shut the door behind us.
I push her back against the wall and step into her. My foot lands between hers and my arm rests on the wall beside her head. Her eyes, although still sad, hold a fire that wasn’t there before.
“He shouldn’t be the only one enjoying himself, Cami-bear.”
My fingers lift and find the zipper that runs the length of her hoodie. I pinch it between my thumb and forefinger and pull. The sound of the metal separating is the only sound filling the room besides her increased breathing.
“How did you find out?”
She tenses as I get to the bottom of her hoodie and it falls open, exposing her tank covered breasts. Pushing my hand inside, I wrap it around her hip.
“I... I saw them.”
My jaw pops at her admission. Motherfucker.
19
Camila
Mason stares down at me, his dark eyes wild
as he tried to control his anger. If the situation were different, I might be scared. He’s directed almost all his anger at me for four years over how his life turned out, but right now I’m not even on his radar, not for his anger at least.
His fingers tighten on my hip to the point that he’ll probably leave bruises, but the way he’s looking at me right now, I really don’t care.
There’s a promise in his eyes. A promise that he can make me forget even if just for a few moments.
The image of Noah’s bare ass as he plowed into Tasha is burned into my eyes. I’ll do just about anything now to remove it. So when his hand releases me to run his fingertips along the bare sliver of skin between my sweats and tank, I don’t stop him. Instead, I stupidly allow my head to fall back against the wall as tingles erupt throughout my body. My thighs clench and my core throbs as anticipation races through me.
Surely, he’s not going to…
I shouldn’t even let him.
I should run. Run and lock my door—if it had one—but that image that’s on repeat in my head and the prospect of it happening is too much.
His eyes stay locked on mine as his fingers slip just slightly under the waistband of my sweats. The skin around them crinkles slightly as he narrows them, giving me an out, but it’s only for the briefest of seconds because no sooner have I registered the warning than his hand is sliding lower and into my panties.
I gasp when his fingers part me and press against my most sensitive place.
“Oh...oh…” I moan when he puts more pressure on my clit and starts to circle. “Oh…” Heat floods my entire body as a knot tightens in my lower stomach.
His breath hits the skin of my neck, and goosebumps break out across my body. His eyes stray from mine to my lips when my tongue sneaks out to lick across the bottom one, but at no point does he make a move to kiss me.
The realization of what this is hits me harder than the sight of them on that bed tonight. Mason doesn’t want me. He’s merely taking something from Noah in his need to punish him for what he did to me. I’m under no illusion that Mason’s about to step in and take his place.
My fingers wrap around his wrist, ready to push him away. I don’t want this because of some fucked up male rivalry that he can use against Noah. I should only want this with someone who wants it with me, someone who’s going to treat me with the respect and love I deserve, but just as I go to push him away, he reaches lower, a finger circling my entrance and slipping inside.
My grip loosens at the sensation and my hand falls away in favor of what he’s doing to me. It feels so fucking good. My head goes fuzzy, all the thoughts, the devastation of tonight melting away as my chest burns for more air and my body gets ready to tip over the edge of the pleasure he’s holding me on the cusp of.
His head leans in closer to my ear and I shudder. I can’t see his mouth but I know he’s smiling at the reaction I’m having to him.
“Come for me, Camila.” His fingers thrust deeper and my body snaps. My hips jolt forward, allowing him to get even deeper which only strengthens the explosion racing through my veins.
My nails scratch against the wall at my back, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me.
The high fades almost as fast as it hits, and I’m left with my chest heaving as Mason slips his hand free of my clothing. He pulls back and stares at me once again. Only this time, instead of the concern for me that was there before, his eyes are full of achievement.
Heat stirs in my belly, but it’s not lust this time. It’s anger.
“Fuck you, Mason.” I slam my hands down on his chest and force him to back up. Surprisingly, he does allow me to push from the wall to make my escape. I’m mortified that I just allowed him to put his hands on me like that but fucking furious for his reasons for doing it.
Reaching out, my fingers wrap around the handle ready to drag it open and leave him behind. But the sound of my name falling from his lips behind me has me stalling. My brain screams at me to run, but my body betrays it. It seems to naturally respond to the deep timbre of his demand, and I fucking hate it.
Unable to stop myself, I look back over my shoulder.
“I bet he never made you come that hard.”
My eyes narrow. I’m desperate for a quick comeback, but the second he lifts the fingers that were just inside me and sucks them into his mouth, his eyes fluttering closed, all words vanish. My chin drops, my cheeks heat and all thoughts leave my head. My breathing catches once again, but it’s not until he pulls his eyes open that I find it in me to run. And I run as fast as my shaky legs will allow.
* * *
I barely leave my room, only sneaking out for the necessities like the bathroom and stealing chips and ice cream from the kitchen when I’m confident I won’t be caught. I know he’s in the room next door—the beat of his music has been quietly filtering through the wall all morning—but I’ve yet to see anyone. I know I’m on borrowed time though.
It can’t be thirty minutes after that thought when a soft knock sounds from my bedroom door. I look down at the pajamas that I’m still wearing despite the fact it’s long after lunch. I don’t bother getting out of bed or trying to make myself look anything but the mess that I currently am when I call out for them to enter.
As expected, Mom slips inside my still darkened room. She takes one look at me and the closed curtains and a deep frown mars her usually smooth face.
“Camila? What’s wrong?”
All morning I’ve fought my tears, but one look at my mom’s concerned face and they spill over. Whether they’re for Noah or just my stupidity for what happened with Mason last night, I have no idea. At this point, my turmoil has just mixed into one. She rushes to me and pulls me into her arms.
“It’s okay, baby.” I cry like I should have when I got home last night, only I was distracted.
When I eventually pull back, Mom’s shoulder is soaked with my tears.
Her face is still full of concern when she takes my cheeks in her hands and wipes away the tears with her thumbs.
“N-Noah…” My words get stuck in my throat. “He...He…” I shake my head, not able to vocalize the words, especially to Mom. “It’s over.”
“Oh, baby.” She pulls me back into her arms but it seems that I’ve run out of tears—for now, at least. “I remember it well,” she says on a sigh. “I know it feels like the end of the world right now, but I promise you, it’ll get better.” She rubs my back as she tries to console me, but it only makes me realize something. Although I’d been adamantly defending him for the past week since his birthday party, I think on some level I knew because as much as last night was a shock, it’s not hurting as much as I think it probably should right now. What’s hurting more is knowing I allowed Mason to take advantage of my emotional state. I should have been stronger. I should have pushed him away. Told him no. But I did none of those things. I actually fear that I may have even encouraged him.
Now he’s got ammunition, something he can use against me, and I have no doubt he will.
“Don’t move,” Mom instructs before rushing from the room, leaving the door ajar.
I have no idea where she disappears to but I don’t put much thought into it, especially when the music next door stops and the sound of his door opening has me on full alert.
When he starts walking and his footsteps only get louder, my breath catches. It’s ridiculous because the bathroom’s right there and he’s probably just going to use that, but my fucked up brain’s convinced he’s coming here.
The footsteps slow and my heart threatens to beat out of my chest as I wait for him to appear in the gap.
I blink and he’s there. I may only be able to see a couple of inches, but every muscle in my body clenches at the sight of him in his black shirt and light ripped jeans. His hair’s flopping down in front of his face so I only get to look into one eye as he finds me sitting cross-legged on my bed. His eye drops as he leisurely takes in what I’m wearing—or not, as the case may b
e. My body heats under his scrutiny, my nipples pebbling and my core clenching as memories of how easily he played me last night slam into me.
His attention eventually comes back up to my face and his mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but lighter footsteps sound before my mom’s voice has Mason turning away, allowing me to suck in a much needed breath.
“You heading out, sweetie?”
“Yeah, party at Ethan’s.” Mason’s deep voice rumbles through me, reminding me of when he whispered in my ear last night.
Another party, and on a Sunday night? I know Ethan likes to enjoy his freedom, but shit.
“Well, I won’t get in your way. You deserve to go out and enjoy yourself.”
“T-thank you.” With the briefest of glances back at me, he’s gone. His footsteps thunder down the stairs.
“Here we go,” Mom announces, pushing the door open wider and revealing her carrying a tray loaded with freshly made nachos, a bottle of what looks like mojito, and a couple of glasses.
Now this is something I can get on board with. My resolution to never drink again after Friday night’s disaster goes flying out the window. I’m with my mom, she won’t allow me to get trashed.
“Oh my god, I need this,” I say, my stomach grumbling as the aroma of melted cheese fills the room.
I scoot over in bed to allow her space, and, once she’s comfortable, I pull up Mean Girls on the TV and we sit back and enjoy a little girl time.
Mom suggests calling Amalie and Alyssa to join in, but as much as I love spending time with them, this right now is perfect. She’s going to be off next week to help Dad set up his apartment in New York, so this might be the last time we get to spend some quality time together in a while. Anyway, I have no idea about Alyssa, but I could pretty much put money on Amalie being otherwise engaged right now with a certain star quarterback.
PAINE: ROSEWOOD HIGH #2 Page 13
